Painted Crimson
by District11-Olive
Summary: Red symbolizes the color of the heart, where cupid strikes with his tameless dart. Welcome to the 44th Hunger Games! Rated T for violence and gore.
1. Colors Part One

_Could be black for the endless strife.  
Red symbolizes the color of the heart, where cupid strikes with his tameless dart.  
The sky may be blue, maybe gray, shows how life can change day by day.  
Yellow in sunlight & spring flowers, I bask in them, hour upon hour.  
Green as the emerald sea, brings peace of mind & tranquility.  
Angels with wings of white, lift me off my feet to flight._

* * *

The entire panel of thirty Gamemakers sits around a large rectangular table. Sketches, projectors, and countless pages of notes and descriptions litter the table. Avian sits at the head of the table, fingertips pressed to his temple in thought. Loud chatter has overtaken the vast room, arguments breaking out over the many decisions that have yet to be made.

"Enough."

Even though his voice has hardly risen above a natural speaking tone it demands the full attention of everyone in the room. Avian being chosen as Head Gamemaker was no chance of fate, his entire person demands respect. For four years now I have worked under him and I know firsthand of the favor our President holds him in. Every arena that has been produced under his command has been immensely successful and each one was more interesting than the last. It is going to be extremely difficult to beat last year's arena, people are still talking about the twists and traps that were unleashed on the tributes. The touches he puts into each are just so phenomenally executed, everyone here either admires him for his work or hates him for it.

"Ceval," he speaks my name shortly and I flinch, amazed that the two familiar syllables should instill such fear in me. "Present your plans to the rest of them. I found them quite interesting."

I nod quickly and take a small, silver disc out of my pocket. I place it in front of me and with the press of a button the device appears in the center of the table. A white and blue holographic image flickers to life, stretching the entire length of the table. The room falls into silence as twenty-eight pairs of eyes analyze every crevice of the arena I'd created.

It was beautiful, an amazing product of twisted imagination. Everything was to be indoors for I knew how the President loved those arenas. Slim windows lined the top of most rooms which would provide a small bit of extra light in addition to the flickering, hanging fixtures. Each room was designed to house a new trap, a new twist for the tributes to face should they choose to enter. Every decoration served a purpose. It was a true work of art; a masterpiece.

"What do you think?" Avian says flatly and you can almost see the gears turning in the heads of those present, trying to decipher his tone and come up with an appropriate response.

"Interesting," one of the older females in the room says finally and the Head Gamemaker nods in agreement.

"Quite," he says shortly and his fingers trace a rectangular button for a second before my creation disappears from its hovering place above the table. My silver disc reappears in front of me and I quickly shove it into my pocket, my eyes never wavering from his placid expression. "Ceval you are in charge of the execution of this idea. Begin the construction immediately."

I nod my head quickly several times and adjust the silver tie that seems to be choking me. Avian dismisses everyone but asks me to remain with him for just a moment longer.

"Remember Ceval, a lot is riding on this. You show great potential, don't make me regret this decision."

* * *

**Welcome to Painted Crimson!**


	2. Colors Part Two

_Could be black for the endless strife.  
Red symbolizes the color of the heart, where cupid strikes with his tameless dart.  
The sky may be blue, maybe gray, shows how life can change day by day.  
Yellow in sunlight & spring flowers, I bask in them, hour upon hour.  
Green as the emerald sea, brings peace of mind & tranquility.  
Angels with wings of white, lift me off my feet to flight._

* * *

Avian stares across the room with a calm expression on his face, when I stare into his eyes they are cold and filled with something that I cannot describe. He presses a button that is positioned into the table in front of him and a blueish hologram. The eyes of everyone present flicker up to the image, most of us recognizing what he is showing us.

Images of teenagers flash by at an even pace, a girl with short dark hair and a malicious grin, a boy with curly brown hair and a calming smile. Each image is accompanied by a set of information that is displayed beside the picture. Name, age, and district, as well as a few others. These are the tributes he has chosen for this year's Games, the ones who will be "Reaped" in just a few days and sent into our waiting hands.

My eyes memorize each one of their faces, and place them to a name. I can't help but picture them in my arena, picture one of the smaller ones pushed up into the walls of the place I designed with a knife drawn to their throat. My mind fills with everything that will make this arena a glorious one.

Then the images begin to turn sadder, and I realize that these tributes are the ones from the outer districts, the ones that everyone knew had no chance of winning. Their faces were less joyful, a sad smile or a blank expression taking over their young faces. The holograms show a young girl with beautiful eyes and my heart melts because I see her crying. Not in the picture, not in a literal sense. The tears I see are only in my imagination, created because I know she is going to die and that my arena will be the last place she sees.

Suddenly I hate myself, I no longer can look at the names and I don't let myself see how old the girl is or what she is called. But when a sheet of paper appears in front of me, I know I will have no escape from these children with their sad eyes and forced grins. Their names are all right there for me to read in black and _red. _

_**The Tributes**_

_**District One **_

_**Female: Callena Martis, 17**_

_**Male: Jax Cutrialy, 17**_

_**District Two**_

_**Female: Maxon Slate, 17**_

_**Male: Vulcan Crater, 18**_

_**District Three**_

_**Female: Wyre Felix, 14**_

_**Male: Fuze Lypton, 16**_

_**District Four**_

_**Female: Faye Darson, 18**_

_**Male: Caddis Tamar, 18**_

_**District Five**_

_**Female: Miram Rivett, 15**_

_**Male: Toriton Aszero, 15**_

_**District Six**_

_**Female: Mayli Dear, 16**_

_**Male: Geare Petrol, 13**_

_**District Seven**_

_**Female: Kiera Maaz, 16**_

_**Male: Alpine Deerden, 17**_

_**District Eight**_

_**Female: Areyna Kyte, 12**_

_**Male: Sedo Monya, 16**_

_**District Nine**_

_**Female: Lylac Medo, 13**_

_**Male: Noeah Hazurn, 17**_

_**District Ten**_

_**Female: Enya Hale, 15**_

_**Male: Dove Uppercut, 18**_

_**District Eleven**_

_**Female: Olive Farah, 18**_

_**Male: Cain Frost, 17**_

_**District Twelve**_

_**Female: Amaran Luminera, 18**_

_**Male: Rivers Bishop, 14**_

* * *

**The blog has now been posted-**

w w w . paintedcrimsonhg . blogspot . ca / **- just remove the spaces  
**

* * *

**I really appreciate hearing your thoughts on the tributes. It helps me to understand what you guys want from certain characters and also gets me to understand whether you guys get what is going on. If you ever have any questions ask me in review or PM me and I would be happy to clarify!**

**If you don't like reviewing that's fine, just don't be surprised if your tribute gets very little focus and dies early. It's just fair to give the people who I know are reading the story more for their character and a longer life. **


	3. Scared and Lonely

_**Scared by Three Days Grace**_

_So real these voices in my head  
When it comes back you won't be  
Scared and Lonely_

* * *

**District One: Sidonia Mihai (Avox) POV**

This will be my first time attending a Reaping live. Each year the Capitol will send four Avoxes along with one Escort to the Capitol and this year I was summoned and brought to District One. Now able to watch as the Capitol showcases just how much power they have over everyone. They have the power to take you from your home and send you into an arena to fight for your life against twenty-three other children who all want the same thing. Just like they had the power to take my voice all those years ago.

I lift a glass of water off my tray and place it down on the wardrobe where District One's Escort, Felicia Vance, primps herself for the ceremony. She shoos me away and a swift movement of my hand in the direction of the stage lets her know that her presence will soon be required. She smacks her lips together once more before she struts off in the direction of the stage. I follow closely behind with heavy, labored steps.

By the time I step into the shadows that hide my presence from the rest of the district, Felicia is already onstage being complimented heavily by the Mayor who looks like he might want to jump up and volunteer himself. His limbs are as thick as tree trunks and his jaw is square, giving the illusion of enormous strength beneath his blonde-haired, blue-eyed face.

"I am just _honored _to be here as District One's Escort for the 44th Annual Hunger Games!" Felicia enthuses with her jaw set into a permanent open-toothed smile. "Now the time has come to select this year's tributes, and, as is polite, I will pick our lucky lady first."

Her heels clack over to the first bowl but before she can even get her perfectly manicured hand into the container I hear two simultaneous shouts from the crowd of eligible girls. Two girls from the seventeen year old section each pause to stare at the other for just a fraction of a second before they both make a mad dash for the stage. The first girl to reach the stage is the blonde haired girl with a face that is all angles and she looks back at her moment of triumph just before mounting the stage. The other girl, a curly-haired brunette takes this second long pause to put an elbow into the back of the blonde girl's head. The girl falls forward and the other girl mounts the stage with an indifferent smile on her freckled face.

"My, my, wasn't that _exciting! _Tell everyone your name dear," Felicia drawls with her thick accent and pushes the microphone towards the rather short girl.

"Callena Martis," she states, drawing out every syllable to make sure it sticks into the minds of everyone listening. Callena pulls herself up to stand as tall as she can but still only reaches to the tall Escort's shoulders. She smiles brightly as if she had just won an award and ignores Felicia as she tries to push her closer to the back of the stage.

"I wonder if our male tribute will put on such an, exciting, show!" Felicia laughs and she begins to walk to the other side of the stage where the male names are contained in glass, keeping her shoulders square to the crowds and cameras. Once again, before her hand has even touched the papers within the bowl I hear a cry from the male side.

"I volunteer," a tall boy with dark, wavy hair strides up the aisle from the seventeen year olds section with an over exaggerated grin on his deeply tanned face. "I volunteer, as _Victor." _

He reaches the stage and stands next to Callena, making her seem even tinier by comparison. Felicia shoves the microphone towards the boy and asks him his name. He takes it and looks out at the audience, the grin nearly vanishing from his face and his eyes dimming noticeably.

"Jax Cutrialy."

* * *

**District Two: Apollo Gracchus (Avox) POV**

I stifle a yawn as the video comes to a close and the Escort, Titanius Locke, turns to the crowd with an almost wicked looking grin. He has been District Two's Escort for as long as I can remember, which is probably not all that long seeing as I just turned eighteen a couple months back. It's only been a year since I'd become and Avox.

At seventeen I had been living on my own in an apartment with my girlfriend Guenivere when they came. An army of white suited men with high-tech weaponry burst into our tiny home and took her by the arms, slapping cuffs onto her thin wrists and aiming their guns at her head. I remember yelling out, demanding they release her. They shot her in the head four times. I was arrested for aiding an enemy and they took my voice, it was cut out of me. Leaving me to their eternal service.

On stage, Titanius clambers over to the first bowl and swipes up a white slip, waving it around in front of his face with a wild gleam in his eyes. A flick of his wrist unfolds the first half of the slip and he looks to the audience with a mischievous smile, relishing the tension that he has created. He flicks his wrist again and the second side unfolds. He wets his lips with his tongue and grants the audience one last grin before whispering the name of the lucky female who would soon enough be replaced by a volunteer.

"Pylia Guhre."

Before the Reaped child can even be located I see a pale hand shoot straight up into the air from the seventeen year old section. A girl with short, dark hair and a wicked smile begins to make her way down the aisle, no one making a move to challenge her claim as tribute. As she mounts the first step she trips a bit and lands on her knees. I watch her smile change into a wide-eyed expression for a fraction of a second but when she turns to face the crowds and cameras her face is once again overtaken by a cruel grin.

Titanius makes a move toward her but she takes a step back from him. Titanius, confused, holds out the microphone to her and she snatches it out of his grip.

"My name is Maxon Slate, and I am District Two's next Victor," she says slowly, allowing everyone present to pick up on her harsh tone. Maxon tosses the microphone back to Titanius and takes her place closer to the back of the stage and as far away from the male Escort as possible.

Even before Titanius has turned to face back towards the audience, I hear several loud yells coming from the crowd of boys. Everything seems to stop as the boys size each other up and then all at once at least eight or nine males make a mad dash towards the stage. A taller boy with a muscular build and wavy brown hair that is spiked atop his head sticks out in my mind. His white teeth show as he runs up the aisle, pushing away a smaller boy as her runs. He is the first to reach the stage but is met with a swift kick to the knees just before he can put his foot on the first step. His balance wavers for just a moment before it is regained and he turns to the other boy, punching his chin so hard that he falls back.

The boy turns and walks up the steps with a confident stride, throwing winks into the audience as they stare back at him in awe. When asked his name he replies simply, stating his name as Vulcan Crater, the boy who has been sent to ensure Maxon's goal is never reached. Vulcan playfully pats Maxon on the shoulder and she pulls away immediately, delivering a swift blow to his gut that makes him take a step back. Vulcan shrugs playfully to the audience as if the whole thing were nothing more than a joke, but the hate on Maxon's face claims otherwise.

* * *

**District Three: Leta Pontus (Avox) POV**

Ten years. I have been doing this same, menial task for ten _years. _I was young, I had made just one mistake and that was it, my life was over but instead of moving onto a new life in paradise I was condemned to live in this limbo forever. This between state of life and death, where I was technically still alive but felt dead nonetheless.

I set out a platter of expensive fruits that had been requested by Escort and known pain Livitika Gloss. Not only was she the most vain person I had ever come in contact with, but she was also cruel and treated her tributes with such disrespect that it was no wonder they had never won under her. She seems to get more and more frustrated with her tribute's lack of confidence and the fact that District Three tributes never have the strength that is required to win the Hunger Games. Maybe if she tried to actually figure out what they were good at instead of demeaning what they weren't than she could produce more Victors. Some of those kids had some promise, but it doesn't matter anymore since they're all dead.

Livitika's voice chatters noisily onstage, her high-pitched voice becoming painful to my ears but I have no choice but to listen as she chirps on about the honor that Victors bring to their districts. It's revolting that she could think so highly of this whole thing. As a child I watched the Hunger Games every year with excitement, but upon seeing the underbelly of the Games; the poverty in the districts, the sadness in the eyes of the Reaped tributes, and the realization on the faces of the volunteers who were deceived into thinking they could win. I grew to despise them and all the represented. For, like me, these children were being punished. The only difference being that I had actually deserved it.

After what feels like many painful hours of endless chatter, Livitika struts over to the first glass bowl that contained the slips for all eligible females. There must have been hundreds upon hundreds of white pieces in that bowl, but yet that amount was nothing compared to those in the outlying districts. The bowls overflowed each year and were at least twice the size of the ones before me, with hundreds more kids needing to take tesserae to feed their families.

"Wyre Felix!"

The name echoes through the tense silence and it took a moment before the crowd of younger girls began to drift apart, segregating a scrawny girl with dark hair in the middle of a lopsided circle. Another girl rushes up to her and hugs her, they say some words that no one can make out and Wyre shakes her head. The other girl drifts slowly back into the crowd, being swallowed up all together so that I can no longer see her within the masses. Wyre walks out of the section of fourteen year olds and steps tentatively out into the aisle where she clenches her hands together and walks up to the stage much more quickly.

Livitika grabs the tiny girl by her shoulders and whirls her around to face the crowd. Wyre forces a small, sad smile to the audience, trying to appear brave as so many young tributes attempt to do. Her eyes are wide and tear ridden and she keeps her expression trained on something above the crowds of people.

Livitika strides quickly up to the male Reaping bowl and swipes a slip off the top of the bowl. As she returns to the microphone she throws a wink into the audience followed by a dazzling smile which is met with nothing but silence. She rolls her eyes but quickly covers up her dismay with another grin before opening the male slip and spitting out the name of the male tribute.

"Fuze Lypton!"

A boy with brown hair and brown eyes stands frozen within the sixteen year olds section, the crowd moving away from him as though they might catch a disease. A pair of Peacekeepers grab him by either arm and lead him away from the crowd and toward the stage. A couple of chuckles are audible from the boys section and Fuze turns to scowl at them while he is being led further and further away. He is shoved harshly up the stairs and he stumbles a bit before regaining his footing. Livitika grabs him by the elbow and leads him to centre stage, turning him to face the now sullen crowd.

"Your tributes for this year's Hunger Games, Wyre Felix and Fuze Lypton!" Livitika exclaims but her cries are only met with silence. Everyone knows that these kids are doomed, even the tributes themselves seem to know it.

* * *

**District Four: Caius Sulla (Avox) POV**

"I volunteer!"

Everyone's heads turn at the simultaneous cry that rocks the square. Several girls dash out of the different age sections, all in a flurry of bright hair and tanned skin. Many small fights break out amongst the competitive girls, suddenly District Four seems to have a lot of children suddenly vying for the position of tribute. Just in the past few years have we seen an increase in volunteers. Most years we would get a volunteer from both genders, but it has only just began to get competitive like this.

I watch from the shadows as older girls tackle each other to the ground, pull at one another's hair, even punch and kick the others. All in a desperate attempt to get to the top of the stage first.

A girl with bright red hair pushes her way past the others, running as fast as her legs will take her until she finally reaches the bottom of the steps. She stops and turn towards the others who seem to all be following her example and are hopelessly sprinting to where she stands. She flashes the girls a dazzling smile and confidently strides up the steps, dismissing the Escort with a wave of her hand and making her way straight over to the microphone.

"Too little to late girls, maybe next year," she smirks and I can almost feel the anger steaming off the heads of the other girls who still crowd along the base of the stage. "I'm Faye Darson, and don't you be forgetting that."

The Escort snatches the microphone from Faye's hand and she just laughs as she is pushed to the back of the stage. The Escort walks mechanically over to the second Reaping bowl and grabs the first slip she touches, appearing not to care very much about which name she chooses. Not that she has any reason to care anyway, they will all result in the same scenario.

"Caddis Tamar."

No one in the entire district steps forwards, as I know they won't. Caddis was well known as being a young man of extreme skill, with the ability to do some serious damage to the rest of the competition, including Faye. His trainers knew he wouldn't step forwards to volunteer, the motivation wasn't in him to become a tribute. His trainer believed that all he would need was a little help getting up to the stage.

Caddis is easy to pick out amongst the other eighteen year olds, his is almost the only face that looks surprised in the least. His mouth is slightly open and he stares straight ahead of him, not moving until he is pulled from the crowd by a pair of Peacekeepers. Caddis walks along with them, but the shock is evident on his face when he reaches the stage and there has been not a single call of volunteering. When I look down onto the other males it is impossible to mistake the look of envy on their faces, the anger steaming out their ears as they watch the boy being led to the stage. Shockingly enough not one of them seems ready to break the instructions that were given to them.

The Escort does not call out to ask for volunteers, but instead hurries to grab one of each of their hands and hoists them up into the air. Announcing each of them in turn as this year's tributes of District Four.

* * *

**District Five: Marinus Nabila (Avox) POV**

District Five always seems to have the same smell about it each time I visit. Most Avoxes will be moved around the districts, for the simple fact that it did not matter where we were placed, we would do our jobs and to the same quality as another one would do it. Somehow though, seventeen out of the twenty years I had been and Avox for the Hunger Games organization, I have been placed in District Five for the Reapings.

The familiar voice of the Escort makes its way to my ears, carrying with it the fate of yet another child that would be dead by the month's end. I had always felt sorry for the children who were Reaped, none of them had actually done anything wrong. They all seemed to fit within the stereotype of weak, scared boys and girls who cried out for their parents and ended up dead by the end of the first day. But lately I had begun to just feel anger upon seeing them, no longer pity at their fate's but bitter resentment at the very people who'd condemned them. The very people who I had, at one point, called my family and friends. They'd since abandoned me, but these children. They had been abandoned by my people long ago.

The newest girl that would join the ranks of my bitterness was one Miram Rivett, a fifteen year old girl with shoulder length brown hair and a rounded face. Upon hearing her name I strained my neck to get a first glance at the tribute, my learned interest in the specimens that has never quite left me. For a fraction of a second I could have sworn I'd seen a look that could resemble joy on her innocent face, but it was quickly replaced with the small, forced grin of a tribute who was trying to stay strong for their family. Though i can't help but notice that the curl of her lips appears to be just the smallest bit too relaxed to be fake.

The boy's name is called and I hear a frustrated yell from the male section, when I am finally able to locate the source I see a blonde-haired boy with almond eyes. He yells once more but it seems not to be the dreading yell of a condemned tribute. You would almost think of anger when you hear this sound. He storms down the aisle and when a Peacekeeper attempts to grab his arm the boy elbows him in the chest, his face pinched into a look of pure hatred.

He reaches the stage and the Escort does not even attempt to converse with him or even so much as touch the male tribute. Instead she motions for them to shake hands and turns back to the crowds of relieved children, a dazzling smile overtaking his face.

As the two tributes shake hands one thought runs through my head. I will never be able to forget the names of these two tribute, Miram Rivett and Toriton Aszero, the ones who broke the stereotype.

* * *

**District Six: Tatyana Latro (Avox) POV**

"Now comes the time to choose District Six's lucky tributes," Evali announces, pressing his lips into the microphone so deeply that you can hear every syllable as though it were being forced into your eardrums. "As is customary, ladies first."

He reaches both hands into the glass bowl and pulls out as many slips as he can hold. He switches them between his hands, allowing the excess slips to fall between his fingers until only a few remain. From these pieces he selects a single white slip, dropping the other few in the container like pieces of rubbish. Despite his peculiar actions, no one laughs or even so much as smiles. No amount of joking around can dismiss the reality of the Reaping ceremony.

Quickly, Evali unfolds the piece and stares into the female crowd, focusing in on a few in particular almost as if he knows already who the chosen tribute will be. He clears his throat into the mike and everyone seems to hold their breath.

"Mayli Dear."

As I have seen many times before, the girls move away from the chosen tribute. Seeming as though she had been tainted already and was a killer just by having her name read. The girl in the centre has curly brown hair that is pulled to the side by an elastic and her soft lips are parted slightly, a sad look in her stormy grey eyes. She seems not to notice the white-clothed men as they take her by the arms and lead her to the stage. Hardly even flinches as Evali shoves her to the back of the stage. She only stands there with the same expression on her placid face.

"Geare Petrol."

Just as with Mayli, the boys move apart to segregate the chosen male. Only this time the circle forms near the front of the stage with the thirteen year old section. My heart drops into my stomach and I try desperately to force my gaze away before I can set my eyes on the boy. Though I am unable to tear my eyes away and they take in every detail of the tiny boy. His short brown hair, his scrawny limbs, and those deep brown eyes that seem to beg for your sympathy. Fear flashes in his eyes and he takes off through the middle of the males, their bodies moving automatically to create a path for his small form. He tears through the sections with a team of Peacekeepers keeping time with him the entire time, as soon as he leaves the safety of the crowds he is grabbed around the stomach and dragged, kicking and screaming, back to the stage.

Two Peacekeepers remain on either side of Geare, no doubt anticipating another breakaway. But Geare stands still and faces the crowd with a terrified expression. My eyes are focused in on the young boy until I hear a sharp cry from beside him. When I look over I see Mayli with her hands on her face, tears streaming down her face and audible sobs escaping her mouth.

The poor girl finally realizes she is doomed.

* * *

**District Seven: Gallus Cicero (Avox) POV**

I used to love the Hunger Games, I remember watching them as a child, visiting the used arenas with my parents and partaking in the re-enactments they held there for the Capitol children. Those are fine memories that I still yearn for even now with my parents both dead from old age and myself a grown man of forty-eight.

It isn't so much that I've come to see the error in the ethnicity of the Hunger Games. I knew, even as a young child, that it was cruel to do to the district children who likely had never done any wrong to deserve the fate. I no longer enjoy the watching of the Games because I have seen the tributes up close. Upon becoming an Avox I was assigned to the service of assisting the organizers of the Games, meaning that I would be present to help at all major ceremonies involving the tributes. It's difficult to watch the Games as an outside person when you fully realize that these kids are just that, kids. When you are just watching them from your couch at home it's easy to forget that. But not when you've heard them chatting amongst each other, sweating from the nerves right before the interviews, and even eating their final meals on the hovercraft ride to the arena. After that nothing you watch can ever be justified.

"Kiera Maaz," this year's Escort, Claudia Nove, says with the calm yet demanding voice she has become well known for. It has a way of drawing you in, to want to listen to her pronounce the name perfectly as if it were the song of a morning dove.

The girls in the front four sections all turn to look behind them while the seventeen and eighteen year olds peer curiously ahead of them. A girl of average height walks smoothly out of the sixteen year old area and makes her way into the aisle. The girl is quite pretty with a strong expression and narrow brown eyes, her short brown hair falling away from her face as she looks straight ahead of her. As Claudia meets her on the side of the stage I see a flash of fear cross her tanned face, but it soon disappears and is replaced with the same stony expression.

I watch as Kiera seems to wilt under the critical eyes of her district, her facial muscles tensing and her expression becoming less natural. She looks off the stage towards where I stand but does not notice me lurking in the shadows of the building. Her eyes fixate on something in front of me and her body relaxes slightly, somehow allowing her to forget about the thousands of eyes peering up at her.

I hardly notice that another slip has been chosen until I hear Claudia's voice booming through the district square. The chosen male, Alpine Deerden, is difficult to pick out at first and I find myself scanning the heads of the male sections, looking for anything out of the ordinary that might mark the new tribute.

After a few seconds, a slender boy with dark hair and eyes moves out of his section, leaving behind the rest of the seventeen year olds who do nothing but stare blankly at hi. The male's eyes blink rhythmically, the action complimenting his mechanical movements as he makes his way to the stage stairs. He looks behind him one last time with a blank, unmoving stare before mounting the steps and being apprehended by Claudia's quick hand.

"District Seven, I give you your tributes for the 44th Annual Hunger Games! Kiera Maaz and Alpine Deerden!"

* * *

**District Eight: Cardea Avouris (Avox) POV**

Kylan stands with his shoulders square to the swelling crowds of panicked children and worried relatives, clutching a single slip of slightly crumpled paper in his small, girlish hands. He grins from ear to ear, relishing in the nervousness of the crowd, with his eyes scanning the crowd of girls and searching for the one that he will soon announce the death of. District Eight rarely wins, no skills can be obtained from textile factories that could be of any use to a tribute in the arena. Some of the other districts produce kids that are far more underfed, but most of which know how to wield something that can be considered a weapon. These kids all knew that if their name was called it was hopeless, the odds were that they would not be returning home without a wooden crate around them.

"Areyna Kyte!" Kylan exclaims finally, shattering the tense silence and causing many of the younger children in the front rows to flinch and cover their ears. A small circle starts to separate within the twelve year old section and my heart drops. Not another young child, not again. Last year the male tribute had been twelve as well, he had brown hair and dimples in his cheeks. I'll never forget the screams and wails as he was carried to the stage in the arms of a Peacekeeper, and later those same shrieks as he was stabbed again and again with a serrated blade.

A small girl stands paralyzed in the middle of the round space and a white-clothed duo of officers move in to apprehend the girl. As they grab for her arm she screams and tries desperately to disappear once more into the crowd of girls. One manages to grab hold of her thin arm and she lets out another cry. They drag her away from the girls and into the aisle. She tries to run to the back of the crowd but a buff arm grabs her from behind and pulls her towards the stage.

"Kenna!" The girl screams and one hand reaches forward to grasp the air. No one answers her shouts and the young girl's wails turn to muffled cries as Kylan meets her at the top of the steps. He guides her to the front of the stage and stands her up to his left. Areyna shakes uncontrollably and her chest rises and falls in quick bursts. From where I stand under the canopy of the Justice Building I can still hear her muffled crying.

"And now," Kylan announces, "for the boys!"

He moves over to the male bowl and digs around for a slip before choosing one. As he is about to walk away he changes his mind and replaces the slip, selecting instead a white piece off the top of the pile. By the time he reaches the centre of the stage the slip has already been unfolded and he reads out the name loud and clear.

"Sedo Monya!"

Just as with the female tribute, the boys part away from the chosen male to create a pathway for the tribute to get into the aisle. A scrawny boy with black hair stands in the centre of the abandoned concrete with his eyes closed tightly, his chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm as he no doubt attempting to calm his beating heart. Within a few breaths he begins to move out of his section and opens his wide green eyes. He keeps his head poised to face the stage with his eyes downcast so as not to catch anyone's pitiful gaze. The district has fallen in silence so the boy's heavy footsteps sound like the boom of a cannon as each foot touches the step.

Kylan greets him by the side of the stage and leads him to stand beside Areyna whose small frame still trembles. Sedo forces a slight grin to come to his face but his eyes remain blurred with tears as he reaches a shaking hand out to the young girl. She looks up to him with her bottom lip quivering but takes his hand and shakes it mechanically. Not even bothering to hide the relief she feels about having someone onstage with her.

* * *

**District Nine: Scipio Bulbus (Avox) POV**

"Now comes the time that you all have been waiting for, the drawing of this year's lucky tributes!" Favia cheers with her face lit up in a naive, excited smile. The Escorts don't understand the true terror of the Hunger Games, or their true role in them. I never understood it until I too became a victim of the Capitol, the kids who are chosen today and I are one in the same. "Ladies first of course!"

She clacks her heels over to the first Reaping bowl containing the names for all eligible females and digs for a slip near the bottom of the growing pile. It seems that more and more tessera is being taken out each year in the outlying districts, nine and ten especially. No one quite understands the reason. Favia glides back to center stage and hurriedly unfolds the slip, and speaking clearly into the microphone she announces the name of a girl by the name of Lylac Medo.

A long wail is heard from the audience and Peacekeepers seize the girl immediately, knowing of the history of some of the children making a break for it. The thirteen year old kicks out at the men and tries desperately to free her arms of their grip. Her light brown hair thrashes around her and tears coat her light skin. Screams and cries echo throughout the district, the only sound audible over the gasps of the crowd. The girl manages to free one arm and lashes out at the Peacekeeper who, in shock, drops her other arm. Lylac immediately runs away at an astonishing pace for her small size. One of the Peacekeepers grabs her around the stomach and she screams again, unable to gain full control over her he hurriedly takes out his tazer and shocks the girl. After one last shriek the girl goes silent and allows the men to carry her forward, a bluish mark becoming visible on the side of her neck.

Lylac stands onstage, sandwiched between two guards and looking utterly terrified. I can't say I blame the girl, if I'd had a chance to run from my fate, you better believe I would have ran my heart out. She's only thirteen, how can she be expected to accept that she is going to die?

Flavia looks slightly disgruntled, her impossibly bright smile wavering just a bit as she welcomes the girl onstage. But before long the grin is back and she is pulling the second slip to announce the male tribute.

"Noeah Hazurn!"

A fairly normal looking boy with brown hair and eyes peers out of the seventeen year old section, a confused expression occupying his face. The Peacekeepers grab him immediately and a look of horror comes across his face. As he is transported to the stage beside Lylac he looks unable to breathe, his lips fluctuating like those of a fish, taking in no breathable air. He stands with his eyes wide and unmoving from a point along the horizon, clearly unable to accept his own fate even at his older age.

* * *

**District Ten: Amica Nero (Avox) POV**

Persephone Daroca stands centre stage with a single piece of white paper clutched in both hands, she unfolds the slip carefully and makes sure to turn the crowd her devilish smirk with each fold. I never understood the escorts who would tease the children, was it not bad enough that they were being sent away with an almost certainty that they would not come back? Did they have to make it a game where they tortured each child in turn before announcing the one that would receive the ultimate punishment?

Even as a young girl I was never caught up in the Hunger Games, I watched them certainly, as it was required viewing, but never had I placed bets on the tributes or cheered for the ones I thought would win. Maybe that was the first thing that made me stand out as a threat. The last straw being my final year as a stylist. The truth is, you never escape the Hunger Games unless you are dismissed or punished. I was one of the lucky ones, treason is something usually considered punishable by death.

"Enya Hale!" Persephone drawls with her Capitol accent, very similar to the one I remember having long ago.

A smaller girl steps out of the fifteen year old section, her eyes calm and questioning as if she had no idea why her name had been called. She walks tentatively up the aisle towards the stage, somehow understanding that this was where she needed to go. Peacekeepers descend on her but as soon as one touches her wrist she lets out a scream and drops to her knees. The Peacekeepers drag her up and she fights hopelessly against the much larger men, beating her fists against their white uniforms. Finally they push her up the stairs and two of them stand guard beside her as she stands onstage, trembling visibly.

"Well wasn't that _exciting?" _Persephone laughs and makes her way over to the second bowl, the one designated for the names of eligible males. She digs around the pile and picks out a slip from the middle of the bowl, holding it up to her face with another ghostly grin. Her heels click as she makes her way to the microphone and she clears her throat before announcing the male tribute, a boy by the name of Dove Uppercut.

Just like Enya, a tall eighteen year old walks out of his sector with a blank look on his face. He stares around at the other children in the district before his gaze falls finally on Persephone and Enya standing on the stage. A flash of realization makes its way across his face and his eyes widen as a Peacekeeper makes a lunge for one of his arms. Dove lashes out with a solid punch to the face and a sickening crack echoes through the district square, clearly a broken nose. Without even blinking the Peacekeeper brings his fist down on Dove and the boy is knocked to the ground. Two white-uniformed men grab his arms and drag the unconscious tribute to the stage, holding him up as Persephone once again announces the names of the tributes.

Upon hearing her name once more Enya falls to her knees with her palms pressed into her face. Her shoulders shake but no sounds can be heard from the doomed girl.

* * *

**District Eleven: Varinia Tullius (Avox) POV**

"Olive Fahrah."

A scream cuts through the near silence of the district square and the teens that surround the source of the deathly shrieks are quick to cover their ears. A girl with her hands pulling at her long blonde hair stands in the centre of the scared teenagers, the screams forcing their way out of her thin lips. Her head flips around and her eyes are closed tightly, as if by not looking she could make this entire nightmare go away. The Peacekeepers seem to finally get over their initial shock at the unnaturally high pitch and begin to rush towards the girl.

All at once she goes still, her hands dropping to her sides and her green eyes snap open. Her mouth closes and she looks around for a moment as if she was only just becoming aware of her own existence. The other girls move away from her as she walks though the masses to get to the aisle. A group of Peacekeepers move to grab her but she snatches her arm away quickly and begins to walk towards the stage by herself. The men follow closely behind but make no move to grab her again, understanding that as long as she is going where she is supposed to be going than it wasn't their job to make her.

Olive climbs the steps calmly and nods respectfully at the Escort who looks back at her with an apprehensive expression, wary of the girl's sudden change of reaction. The girl stands slightly behind and to the right of the Escort and looks blankly down at the crowd of relieved girls. You can hear some of the older girls in the back giggling, now finally realizing that they are free of the Games and will never again have to fear for themselves at the Reaping.

The Escort picks a slip from the side of the glass bowl and holds it out in front of her as she clicks her way over to the microphone that stands centre stage. She quickly flicks her wrists to open the white piece and clears her throat into the speaker.

"Cain Frost."

I brace myself for another round of screaming but am relieved when I just see the slight movements in the crowds that tell me a tribute will soon emerge from their section. A boy peers out of the seventeen year old section with a cautious look on his face, scanning the aisle for a moment before daring to step into it. When his second foot touches the cracked pavement a slight grin takes hold of his face. Never leaving his lips even when he stands next to Olive on stage. The small smile remains even when they shake hands and the Escort calls out their names once again. The last thing I see as they pass me, surrounded by Peacekeepers, into the Justice Building is that curious smile.

* * *

**District Twelve: Leo Velimna (Avox) POV**

The girl, Amaran Luminera, stands on stage with her eyes fixated on the ground that lay before the endless crowd of kids. When her name had been called she seemed oddly calm, her face impassive and eyes unwavering from the staring competition she seemed to be having with the dirt. Her eyes were not wide open but more narrowed, as if she was tired or had just woken up.

Her grey eyes mark her as coming from the poorer region of District Twelve, oftentimes referred to as the Seam by mentor Ridge Kilan. Her curly blonde hair is messy with small wisps of hair sticking out from all sides. She has a strong jaw line that was set in a stoic position, not allowing anyone to read her expression or gain anything more than her physical appearance. She barely seemed to breathe.

The boy that stood next to her was much shorter than her. Rivers Bishop stood in the fourteen year old male section with his face the color of white sheets until a trio of Peacekeepers grabbed him and brought him to the bottom of the steps. He did not kick or fight the large men, as I have seen so many young children do. Rivers simply went limp in their arms and allowed them to drag him forward, tears streaking his freckled face.

Onstage now he trembles visibly and I can't help but look upon him with pity. The district is in solemn silence for the young boy, as it always is when younger tributes are chosen. Though no one makes a move to volunteer for the boy and he remains onstage as the Escort announces them.

"I am _honoured _to present you with District Twelve's newest tributes, Amaran Luminera and Rivers Bishop," she says chirpily, bringing her hands together in small, quick claps that echo through the silence of the district square. After a few moments she stops and her smile becomes forced, she is new this year and doesn't yet understand the ways of the crowd here. District Twelve does not clap for its tributes, they mourn them as they know they won't return without a knife in their chest.

"Go on, shake hands!" She chirps, trying hopelessly to receive a cheerful appreciation of some sorts. She'll understand soon enough, though if the Escorts get too dull they are replaced, it's as simple as that.

Amaran turns blankly to face Rivers though her eyes remain fixated on a point over his shoulder, her gaze never meeting his. River's arm trembles as he lifts it up to her and his cheeks shine with the mixture of old and new tears. Amaran takes his hand and they hold for a moment before releasing their grip on each other. The Escort turns them both towards the entrance to the Justice Building and flutters her fingers at the district people in a sort of wave that has become popular in the Capitol. The two tributes make their way towards where I stand, but before they reach me both are apprehended by a group of Peacekeepers and guided down the dark hallway to wait for their final goodbyes.

* * *

**The artist theme for this story will be **_**Three Days Grace.**_

**Song: **_**Scared**_

* * *

**The blog for this story can be found on my profile. The tribute profiles have now been updated with alliances!**

* * *

**Welcome to the official beginning of **_**Painted Crimson! **_**Let me know how you like your first glimpse into the journey of these characters and also your thoughts on the formed alliances! Who are your favourites and why?**

* * *

**Honestly I am so sorry for the huge delay in getting this out. Reapings are very tedious for me and I tend to obsess over the minor details, hopefully the updates should be better after this one!**


	4. Weakness Starts to Show

**Overrated by Three Days Grace**

_The weakness starts to show__  
They've created the generation  
That we know_

* * *

**Callena Martis, 17, District One**

My stylist straightens the sleeve of my thin, glittered jumpsuit that leaves a trail of sparkles on her fingertips. She then takes care to them all rub off onto her skirt. Her perfect nails press into my cheeks as she wipes something off the side of my painted face. I had been in the Remake Centre for Panem knows how long, my body and face being morphed to perfection and then being squeezed into this tight-fitting outfit. My hair feels fifteen pounds heavier thanks to the gems that are staggered down my mane and the tight crown of jewels covering my hairline. She finally steps back to admire her work and I grimace under her stare. Her eyes seem to bore into me and I can sense the comment rising in her throat before it ever exits her lips.

"If only you were taller," she sighs sadly, shaking her head, "my work would have made such a great impression."

Jax and I had been prepared separately, though I know that our costumes will at least resemble each other's. That means that he is no better off than I when it comes to these ridiculous arrangements. As soon as Jax had volunteered at the Reaping, I had assumed he would be this arrogant brute, not unlike the other boys at the Academy. As soon as we got on the train, however, he had changed so dramatically that I had often wondered if it were possible that his twin brother had jumped on the train instead of him. Jax kept to himself, barely speaking a word to myself or either of our mentors. His eyes flashed with intelligence but he did not seem to be playing the part of the brute any longer. I wonder if the arrogant boy I saw volunteer was just that, a part to play.

As if on cue, Jax along with his flamboyant stylist enter the room and walk over to where I stand beside our chariot. As I had predicted he is dressed in a glittered jumpsuit identical to mine, but his hair is not coated with gemstones as mine is. I note that the design of sparkling stones differs on his costume, his seem to be placed into short lines that don`t appear to have any set pattern, whereas mine are arranged in swirls that seem to encompass my body. The same smile that he had bore at the Reaping has returned to his face and I shake my head, trying to figure out what exactly this boy is up to.

* * *

**Vulcan Crater, 18, District Two**

Most of the other tributes have already arrived by the time I enter with my stylist in tow. It doesn't take long for me to spot Maxon amidst the crowd. Like me, her body is painted gold and she wears a minuet amount of clothing that has been designed to look like armour. A gold skirt that must be less than 4 inches long attaches to a strapless, skin tight bandeau of the same color and sheen. Even her face is coated with paint and the whites of her eyes appear to glow against the dark background. Maxon turns her body towards me when I have gotten close enough and I am able to admire the intricate pattern of her body armor.

"Nice pants," she smirks and I look down to the hard, gold shorts that barely cover my bottom half. Besides that measly piece of clothing I am naked, though it's not as if anyone would complain if I were to be completely exposed. You are able to make out the defined muscles of my stomach through the paint and I smile, causing some of the gold to leak into my mouth leaving an unpleasant metallic taste.

"Nice hat," I retort quickly and point to the halo of golden leaves that sits atop her dark hair. She rolls her eyes at my comeback and her gaze holds on my own crown, mentally telling me that we are wearing the exact same headdress. I shove her by the shoulder playfully once I have come close enough to her. Maxon immediately stumbles backwards as my hand makes contact with her arm and she hits the side of the chariot with her back. I reach down to help her up but she slaps my hand away and heaves herself up, her stylist rushing over to make sure none of the paint has been smeared.

The District Fours pass me on their way to their chariot and I do a double take as their outfits move from my vision. When I look back I see that both of the tributes wear blue swimsuits and have pieces of seaweed wrapped around their legs, arms, and even strung through their damp hair. Their entire bodies have been sprayed with a pale blue that makes them look like drowning victims and I cannot help the smile that comes to my face.

I glance behind the pair and my eyes fall upon the District Seven tributes that are already being helped into their chariot. The girl requires the help of two stylists and a mentor so that she does not break her outfit, the entire thing is made of twigs that appear ready to snap at any moment and expose her. My eyes remain glued on the visible parts of her body and I almost wish that they would break. The male wears an outfit based on the same concept, a white shirt with a short sleeved jacket and pants made from light brown sticks. His face is impassive as he accepts the help from both a mentor and an escort to get into the vehicle alongside the pretty girl.

My eyes drift back even further behind our chariot to the District Ten tributes. The girl watches as the boy is ushered into the chariot before her, a nervous smile on her tanned face. She wears a black and white dress that I assume to be some sort of play on the pattern of a cow and her partner sports pants of the same design along with a long-sleeve white shirt. As the girl steps forward to get helped into the chariot, a loud, low ring echoes through the stable. It is only then that I understand the dull gold shape that is poised like a necklace around her throat. Both tributes have a large cowbell around their necks.

"Time to get in, Vulcan."

I hear Maxon calling from above me and I look up to see her staring down at me with a tight expression. I accept the hand of my stylist that is held out to help me into the chariot and I climb in next to Maxon, shoving her over to her side in the process. She huffs in dissatisfaction but says nothing, only inching further and further away from me until I believe she may fall out of the thing altogether. Our chariot lurches forward and she grabs hold of the railing upon stumbling forward. I reach out to help but she only glares at me over her shoulder. Instead I shrug and position myself in the chariot, the applause from the crowds urging my lips into a wicked smile.

* * *

**Fuze Lypton, 16, District Three**

The applause is deafening and beside me Wyre raises her hands slightly as if to cover her ears. I shake my head quickly at her and she looks at me with a concerned look in her pale eyes. I give her a smile and a nod, placing a hand on her shoulder which seems to calm her. She closes her eyes for a split second and when they open her eyes appear dead and blank, just like they did at the Reaping. This transformation shakes me a bit and I release my grip on her shoulder, but one more pitiful glance from Wyre has my hands replaced on her shoulders to steady her.

Unidentifiable cheers from the crowds break through my eardrums alongside the mountainous applause and the shouts that sound something like my name. I listen more closely and realize that they are chanting my name, but just mine. No one seems to even notice Wyre who stands shakily in front of me, trying her very best just to not faint.

"Wave," I whisper in her ear and she mechanically lifts her hand and moves it back and forth in front of her. A few cheers of her name are audible but nearly lost in the shouts that now focus in on the chariot behind us. I rack my brain for something more, something that will get both of noticed. Just before we ride into the City Circle, I take Wyre's hand in mine and raise it high above both our heads. The applause is deafening as people all around us point and scream our district number. A smile even creeps onto Wyre's pale face as we ride through the last of the crowd. Someone throws us a silver daisy and I catch it and place it in Wyre's neatly combed hair, earning more applause and cheers. I look up to the side screens to see the smiling face of my district partner, illuminated by the silver makeup on her face and grinning from ear to ear. I throw back my head and laugh as the screams of the crowd intensify with each coming chariot. We come to a stop next to the District Two tributes and they both look back at me with empty glares, not exactly fierce and intimidating but more disappointed than anything. I turn back to Wyre and bring my mouth close to her ear.

"We beat them at their own game Wyre," I whisper. "We can still do this."

She looks up at me with a close mouthed grin and nods slowly before taking my newly outstretched hand. We shake once and turn our attention to the other tributes as the rest of the chariots congregate around us.

* * *

**Faye Darson, 18, District Four**

Finally District Twelve pulls up two chariots to my right. Both tributes are dusted completely in black, right down to their hair. They also wear a three quarter sleeve jumpsuit that barely brushes past their knees. Reddish-orange strips of fabric plague the suits as well as their black dusted skin, giving the faint illusion that they are burning coal. Quite clever of their stylists actually, and a large improvement from the coal miner costumes that District Twelve usually presents.

The President rises in his chair, the white hair shining atop his head despite his young age. President Snow, everyone knows who this man is, the very person that holds Panem together and allows the Hunger Games to continue even after forty-four years. His bulky body is clothed in a dark grey suit and his signature white rose protrudes from his front most pocket. Beneath his thin lips I am able to see rows of pointed teeth much like those of a shark. His eyes seem to hold each of our gazes at once and the entire stadium falls silent under his stare.

"Welcome, tributes, we welcome you. We salute your courage, and your sacrifice. And may the odds be _ever _in your favour," as his lips form the familiar slogan of the Hunger Games I can't help but shudder with excitement. This was all really happening, this was all going to happen for me.

My eyes the District Two male looking closely at the tight fabric around my breasts. I angle myself towards him and his eyes fly up to meet mine, a smile flitting up to my lips. He winks and then turns away to listen to the rest of the President's speech but my eyes continue to scan the other chariots.

The first thing that catches my gaze is the colorful District Eight chariot. The girl looks around with an awed look in her eyes, as if everything around her were something marvelous, which I must admit that it is. Her small body is overtaken by a long-sleeved, ankle length dress that puffs out around her arms and neck. The entire thing is a mess of green and pink, as if the stylist could simply not tell one from the other and just threw them both onto the costume. The boy's outfit is similar, but while the dominant color of the girl's was pink, his includes far more green. Atop both of their heads stands a lopsided band of either pink or green with a collection of colored feathers coming up on one side. The colors hold my eyes for many moments until I force myself to look away, the overwhelmingly tacky fashion beginning to make my stomach churn.

Two chariots to my right, I spot the District Six tributes. They are dressed in almost direct contrast to the District Eights' colorful mess, being clothed in a suit and dress of all black. A thin, tire like band runs around their heads and waists, giving the illusion that both are being strangled by their unfortunate district's industry. One chariot closer to me finds the tributes of District Five clothed in silver sequined tunics that catch the light and reflect it at all angles. Long strands of silver wiring wrap around their heads and down their faces, causing both the tributes' faces to remain locked in a single expression for fear of the wire running loose.

Our chariot begins to move again and beside me Caddis gasps and grips the handrail even tighter than before. When I look over to him I see his face stuck in a stoic expression, nobody except me would see the fear that only becomes visible when you look at his white-knuckled hands. The fear that I must find a way to infiltrate and bring out of him, and expose him as what he truly would never be. A _real _Career.

* * *

**Toriton Aszero, 15, District Five**

Mace offers me a hand and I take it gleefully, hopping out of the chariot to land five feet down to the stable ground. My feet are unable to keep still as I stare around at the other tributes. They are all dressed in hilarious costumes that I just cannot help but smile and laugh at. Today I feel happy, I have no idea how I will feel tomorrow.

Miram is helped off the chariot by Mace and he kisses her hand politely only to have her pull it away. Her eyes move around the room and I follow them as they fall on each district pair, soaking up the ridiculous costumes that make ours look like the latest fashion trend. I think that District Eight has it the worst this time, when I first saw their costumes on the screen as we were preparing to leave the stable, I burst out laughing, the laughter carrying on throughout the ride as the colorful people cheered me on. I'll never quite understand these people, but seeing them cheer at my crushing laughter only made me laugh harder. Despite how it started out, with my mentor waking me rudely as we arrived in the Capitol this morning, today has been a pretty fun day. I got to dress up like some sort of ludicrous clown and to top it all off, twenty-three other kids my age were dressed up with me, talk about funny.

"Did you have fun?" I yell over the loud atmosphere of the room towards Miram who is still looking between the chariots quickly, her eyes soon boring of the costumes and moving onto the next. When she turns to look at me she has a weird kind of close-lipped smile on her face and her eyes are lit up with amusement.

"Yeah actually," she laughs but her eyes flitter over my head as though she could no longer look at me. By the time I think of a response she is already nowhere to be seen, no doubt heading off with her mentor, Avani. Mace comes up beside me and grabs my arm to lead me away. When I see that his eyes are not pointed at me I follow his gaze over to the District Two female who stares back at me with a smile on her face. One look at Mace tells me that he does not approve of this girl looking at me but I can't understand why. He pulls me by the arm and just before we disappear through the doors I flash the girl a big grin causing her smile to widen and her eyes to narrow. Mace whispers to me not to look back and that I shouldn't aggravate her. Mace is just being paranoid as always, thinking everyone is out to get him or to get the people he is with. But I really don't understand why Mace always thinks that, what's so wrong about someone just being genuinely happy in the Hunger Games?

* * *

**Mayli Dear, 16, District Six**

Geare is the first through the door to our suite and he stops so suddenly in the doorway that I almost run into him. First I can do nothing but apologize profusely at the boy, who doesn't even seem to register my words, but as my eyes move upwards my lips too are unable to form another syllable.

The room we have just walked into is large, so large in fact that I am unable to see it in its entirety from where I stand. The walls, floors, and ceilings are all painted the same tint of white so they melt into each other, leaving me unable to tell where one starts and another finishes off. The colors of the furniture all blend into one another, giving the impression that everything within the suite had been hand painted just for us. A raised dining room is to the left of me and many doors take up the far right wall along with a beautiful sitting area containing a large screen that is somehow able to stand on its own.

I take another step into the place and my head spins with all the luxury that I have suddenly become immersed in. Geare walks up beside me and sighs deeply, both of us eating up the beauty of a home bigger than anything we have ever seen before in District Six. A harsh hand on both our shoulders brings us back to reality and I spin around to see Rush grinning half-heartedly back at us both, Maize by his side but not looking at anything in particular. Her glazed eyes seem always to brush over us, but without even the faintest hint of recognition registering in them.

"Would you like to have some dinner?" Rush asks and his voice carries smoothly through the room until I feel that his speech is enveloping my very body with its soft tones. Geare nods excitedly as he watches a pair of red clad Avoxes bring out trays of silver, piled high with unrecognizable delicacies.

"I would rather just go to my room," I say and take a couple steps towards the many doors on the right hand side of the suite. "Um, which one is it?"

Rush laughs at the sheepish smile that follows my question and points to the second last door that is a light brown color, its tone directly contrasting with the bright, cheery atmosphere of the room. I press through it and walk into an enormous room that is likely bigger than my entire house back home. In the centre lies a luxurious bed covered in thick, grey and green blankets and countless fluffy pillows. I run my hands over the fabric and shivers travel up my spine as I think of how much Kiko would enjoy curling up on this bed with me.

A sudden lump of homesickness fills my stomach and I sit down at the small table in the corner of the room, pulling a thin notebook out of the pocket of my costume. A pen slides out of the binding and I open up to the last page I had used just two nights ago. The night before any of this even had crossed my mind, me being a tribute in the Hunger Games, me visiting the Capitol, me leaving everything familiar to be thrown into this odd world.

I begin with a simple sentence that sums up my thoughts perfectly, writing down everything after that which I feel important to record even though no one will ever see it but me.

_Everything I know has been turned upside down, but that's alright, everyone needs to be challenged once in their life. _

* * *

**Alpine Deerden, 17, District Seven**

The sun leaks in through the sheer curtains and my eyes squint open, unable to immediately adjust to the day. I throw the blankets off me and swing my feet over the bed and onto the floor, bracing myself from the cold shivers that never come. I feel warmth course through my body and I close my eyes to savour it, like I never have before I feel completely whole and pure.

The moment is short lived when I once again I open my eyes to see a black bag hanging on the back of my door, a hanger protruding from the tope to keep it secure. I walk over to it, stretching my limbs one at a time with each step, and rip the white slip of paper off the top of the sac.

_Put this on and meet us in the dining room, be ready to talk._

_Aspen_

I crumple the note and throw it to the wooden floor and remove the bag from the door, placing it roughly on my bed. I don't understand why everyone suddenly feels like talking, I was never good at talking to people and I see no reason that that should change just because I am a few days away from dying. All I've heard from Aspen is how I need to be more open and stop dwelling on the situation. He doesn't know me, this is just the way I am. If I'm going to die, I'm going to die as me. Not as some kind of crazy mutant that Aspen hopes to mold me into.

I unzip the long bag and pulls out a black outfit that is stretchy beneath my fingers and has pieces of grey and blue intertwined down the sides. As I slip it on I cannot help but feel exposed, as if by being so constricted in this outfit I am actually showing more than I am actually hiding. I run my hands over the smooth fabric and then through my messy hair before sitting down on the floor to force a pair of black combat boots onto my feet. They make my feet ache but eventually I manage to get them on.

I walk out the door and into the enormous apartment, memories floating back in from the previous night when Kiera and I stared in awe at the sheer beauty of the place. None of the amazement has worn off and I find myself starring once again at the luxurious layout.

Aspen clears her throat and I am flung back into real time, noticing Kiera and everyone else already seated at a long table with food being shoved into their mouths. I hurry over and take my place, piling food onto the large plate until I can no longer see white between the cracks of the food. Aspen talks for most of breakfast but I tune her out for the most part, only adding a polite nod once in a while to give her the notion that someone is actually listening to her babbling. When breakfast has ended, Aspen, Cypress, Kiera, and I make our way to the door at the front of the apartment from which we had entered that previous night. We step in and Aspen presses her finger into the button marked with a 'T,' almost immediately the floor beneath us begins to move as we descend to our first day of training.

* * *

**Sedo Monya, 16, District Eight**

"Welcome tributes to your first of three training days," a monotonous female voice tells us from the centre of the circle of tributes. She is dressed in an outfit similar to ours but in place of the blue stripes down the sides of our suits she and the other trainers have red. "There will be one mandatory exercise and the rest will be individual. I know that everyone wants to begin with weaponry but remember that not all of you will die at the hands of another tribute. Half of you will die from natural causes; starvation and dehydration are common. Learn what you need to survive tributes, whatever that may be."

The trainer walks off and almost immediately the Career tributes rush past Areyna and I on their way to the stations that hold the most dangerous looking weapons. The girl from Two turns back and smiles cruelly in our direction, causing Areyna to subconsciously move closer to me.

In the short time Areyna and I have been together she has become oddly comfortable with me. Even now she looks up at me with admiration in her wide hazel eyes, willing me to make decisions for her. Trusting me that I will know what it is we have to do to survive. But the thing is I don't know. I never thought I would be here right now, just as I am sure she didn't think she would be. Both of us are nothing but pawns of fate, moving around to please something more powerful than ourselves. When I look down at Areyna I see nothing but a doomed child who is holding onto a condemned hope that maybe, just maybe, she will be able to find her way home again.

My own mind however, can't help but see her and everyone else in this room covered in blood. In their own, in that of other tributes. All I see when I look at anyone is dripping, tainted blood that symbolizes the horrible game we will all be playing. Where we will all kill just to try and save ourselves. When I look at Areyna all I can picture is an arrow splitting her fragile heart in two.

"Where do you want to go first?" I ask her quietly and she begins to scan the room analytically. My eyes follow hers as the graze each station in turn before finally falling in a station nearest the back of the centre, currently unoccupied. The only person there a bored looking male with dark, green-tipped hair. Her small hand comes up and she points with her index finger towards the station and I nod, following her small form towards the back of the room.

As we approach the station I see dozens of long tubes lining the wall beside it and even more dozens of darts arranged on the table beside a makeshift target range. Areyna walks right up to the trainer who nods at the long tubes, Areyna picks one of the smaller ones and I do the same.

"This weapon you are holding is called a blow dart tube," the trainer sighs and explains quickly. "It can be used for long or short range and, when aimed correctly, can result in death."

Areyna's eyes widen and she begins to put the weapon down, suddenly realizing its capabilities as being lethal. I place my hand on her shoulder and shake my head. If we are going to win this, we are going to need a way to get to the others and this just could be that way.

* * *

**Lylac Medo, 13, District Nine**

I look around the room at the countless displays of skill stations. The older and stronger tributes have already made their way towards the weaponry setup and that leaves the smaller and less oriented tributes to take over the survival stations. Originally I had wanted to work with finding a weapon I could use adequately, but just looking at the other tributes swinging around axes larger than my head makes me want to puke. Instead I decided to go over to the camouflaging station where an eager trainer awaits me.

"Welcome to camouflage!" She cheers and takes me by the shoulders, directing me towards the round table that is filled with paints, leaves and picture. "Pick a picture of the background you want to blend yourself into and I will show you how to do it!"

I nod and smile sweetly at her as she walks over to wait for any other tributes who might stumble upon this station. I glance carefully at the many pictures in front of me and finally decide on the background of a grey concrete wall. I bring the photo over to the trainer and she directs me towards the grey and white paints that sit on one end of the table. I take my time carefully painting my arm with the two color as she shows me how to apply it properly to give it the same texture as concrete.

"Hi!" A voice comes from behind me and I whirl around almost managing to spray the boy with paint. He has brown hair and beautiful blue eyes that almost make me melt on first sight. His face is covered in a wide grin and he looks up to me cheerily. "That's so cool! How did you do that?"

I shrug and point to the paints in front of me, unable to hide the small smile that comes to my lips. "She showed me how to paint myself into concrete, but that will only help if the arena has some."

"Still, it's really cool! I think I might try to make myself blend into a tree," he says sweetly and begins to gather the paints in front of him that make up the intricate color and design of tree bark. I begin to return to my work but something stops me. This is the chance I need.

Ever since I was born I have always been the baby of the family, never old enough to do anything or be of any help. By the time I turned ten my family decided it was time for me to begin pulling my weight around the house and dumped chore after chore on top of my schoolwork. My youngest brother who was sixteen at the time took some pity on me and used to do some of my chores for me, with a bit of convincing on my part. If I can convince my own brother to do things for me, why is this stranger any different?

"I'm just kind of scared for what is going to happen soon," I say quietly and allow myself to sniffle almost inaudibly. "Everyone seems so prepared and camouflage won't keep me safe forever."

"I could help you," he shrugs without taking his eyes away from his work.

"You want me as an ally?" I ask and turn to the boy, letting my eyes widen slightly in questioning.

"Sure, why not?" His face is coate

* * *

**Dove Uppercut, 18, District Ten**

Nothing in this entire room reminds me of home.

I had thought the plants and trees that have been placed at the various stations would make me feel more comfortable about this entire situation. But I was wrong, even the nature here is brooding and unwelcoming. For a while now I have busied myself with the shelter making station, trying hopelessly to build something out of a bundle of sticks and some rope. So far all I have managed to do is give myself about a dozen splinters.

I lean myself up against one of the trees in the area that have been placed to look like one of the more common arenas, forests. Taking a piece of rope in my hand I absentmindedly twist it around the sticks as I gaze across the cavernous room.

The first thing that catches my eye is the glint of silver as one of the Career males slices through the air with a wide headed axe. The thud is audible as he connects with one of the plush dummies and I force myself to look away from the weapons training, not exactly wanting to psych myself out even more than I already had managed to. The next view I see is much nicer, a tall girl with a slender body sashays over to the plant identification table. When she gets there she runs a hand through her blonde hair and throws it over her shoulder. My eyes do not leave her beautiful body until a voice from above snaps my attention back.

"Hey."

"Oh hey," I reply to the long haired male standing above me, an "11" stitched into his sleeve. Hi smile is serene and I feel myself becoming calmer and calmer just by his very presence.

"This is a nice change, eh?" He looks around the room blankly and I find myself following his gaze as it jumps from person to person, station to station. I consider his words carefully, he is right that all of this is a huge change for me, though I wouldn't exactly call it a nice one. His eyes eventually turn back to me and I tell him this as kindly as I can.

"I guess we'll see if it's nice or not. For now though I think it is, nothing bad has happened just yet," his eyes move again to scan the room but I am unable to tear my eyes off the strange boy to follow his gaze. It seems ridiculous but in some way or another he is right, the only bad part about this experience is that eventually almost all of us will die. The journey so far doesn't seem nearly as bad as I think it should be, considering where we are going. Maybe he is right, maybe I should just focus on enjoying the ride, it's not like I have any say in where I'm going anyway.

* * *

**Olive Fahrah, 18, District Eleven**

This is all really weird. It's like we are all just being thrown into this place unprepared, no one except the Careers knowing how to train for these Games. I feel so unprepared even at my advanced age.

I look across the room to see the little twelve year old girl from Eight, her eyes staring admiringly up at her district partner as he blows something out of a tube that hits a target on one of the inner rings. I can't imagine how she must feel, six years younger than me and so very tiny. How can she possibly be expected to deal with all this, even training is nerve wracking for me. It makes me wonder how the Games will play out, if already I feel this lost.

I wonder if it would do me any good to find an ally. People do that a lot in the Hunger Games, that I know. Already I have seen the little ones from Nine and Twelve team up as well as my district partner, Cain, and the District Ten male. Maybe I should find someone to stay with, at least for a little while during the Games. Someone to protect me, maybe even someone to keep me sane for just a while longer than I would be alone.

Suddenly I feel a sense of coldness come over me and my vision blackens once again.

When I come back I am standing at the weaponry station, a bow and arrow poised in my grip. Immediately I drop the weapon and I hear the whimpering of a young child behind me. I whir around to see the little boy from District Six huddled in the corner of the range, scared eyes looking up at me as if I were some sort of demon. I take a step towards him and he flinches, pressing himself further into the wall and closing his eyes as if preparing himself for an assault. I throw my hands up to show him that I am not someone to be afraid of and he takes that chance to get up and run away towards the survival stations, hurrying away as fast as his little legs will carry him.

This has happened for as long as I can remember. Suddenly everything will fade out and when I come to I will be somewhere completely different, doing something that I never planned to do. Sometimes there are people around me, sometimes there isn`t. The only thing that is always present is the expressions on the faces of the people that are there. They always mimic the one of the little District Six boy, bathed in terror and eyes wide. I never ask for an explanation, I did once and after that I never wanted to know.

* * *

**Amaran Luminera, 18, District Twelve **

Rivers climbs in the elevator with me and I press our district number into the key panel. He seems just as happy as ever, I swear nothing can faze this kid. That is kind of what makes him interesting though, but I am scared the Games will change him too much. I have seen far too many young kids turned savage by the pressure and anxiety put on by this so called game. Last year there was a girl from one of the middle districts that was just thirteen years old. She seemed normal enough, but when the Games commenced she became unrecognizable. She killed her ally, another young kid, and tried hopelessly to take on an older lone tribute. Just a snap of her neck and she was gone for good.

I shudder at the memory, hoping to some higher force that Rivers won`t be forced to become like that girl, that he will stay this young, naive boy even in his inevitable death. Part of me wishes he didn`t have to die, but the rest of me knows that he was doomed the second his name was called at the Reaping, as it always is with the under fourteen tributes.

We clamber out of the elevator when it hits floor twelve and the first thing I see is Ridge sitting at a table with a glass of cloudy liquid in his hand. Both Rivers and I try to sneak past him into our respective bedrooms but he calls out to us and pats the stool beside him. I smile sadly and shake my head, motioning for Rivers to go ahead into his room while I head over to the table and place myself across from Ridge who hiccups loudly from the effects of the liquid.

"So how did it go?" He asks, drawing his words out in a way that remind me of a Capitol person, if not a bit more refined than one from the alcohol. I shrug my shoulders and he swats playfully at me, but manages to catch me on the side of my cheek. I back away but he only laughs, clearly not attuned to his own actions.

I had in fact made some allies today, so I consider that my day went fairly well considering the reason for my being here is to die on television. The first one I met was Miram from District Five, she seemed to get strangely attached to me from the very beginning, wanting me to watch her as she practiced with a bow an arrow. In truth she has become more adequate at using the weapon than I have, usually hitting the target on one of the outer rings and once hitting the ring outside the bull's eye. We spent most of the day at the archery station, which is where we also met Noeah, the boy from Nine. He is far superior at archery than either Miram or myself, hitting the middle rings most of the time and even a bull's eye once in a while. I watched him in admiration for the latter half of the day but Miram kept practicing, urging me to watch her progress the entire time.

I don't know why but they both remind me of my friends back in Twelve. Katie and Miram are almost one in the same, deathly stubborn girls whose determination is never lacking. Katie is one of the poorest girls in the Seam and yet she still manages to have a lively air about her, something that I wish my own family could muster up once in a while. Noeah's similarity to Olivia is almost scary, both have a quiet confidence about them that calls up attention, though both of them seem to reject the attention away from themselves, never basking in it as one would expect them to. Recognizing these traits in my new allies only makes me miss home more, and reinforce how important it is for me to get back there.

* * *

**The artist theme for this story will be **_**Three Days Grace.**_

**Song: **_**Overrated**_

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**The blog for this story can be found on my profile. **

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**I really appreciate hearing your thoughts on the tributes as well as a general review on my writing. It helps me to understand what you guys want from certain characters and from the story in general.**

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**I am really sorry about how long this took, and the next one will likely be just as long if not longer in time for me to write. I have a lot on my plate right now but I will do my best :D updates will likely get better once Christmas break begins for me! Again thank you to all who reviewed, it is very much appreciated as always!**

**Want more information about the mentors? Check out my story, _73 Victors, _which includes all of the mentors from this Games :D reviews on that are also appreciated ;)**


	5. Broken Down Inside

**World So Cold by Three Days Grace**

_Guilty and I'm broken down inside_

_Livin' with myself nothing but lies_

* * *

**Jax Cutrialy, 17, District One**

The other Careers are already waiting by the weapons stations when Callena and I arrive downstairs. Maxon and Faye look majorly ticked at something and glare at us both as we make our way over to the strange group. Vulcan stands in the middle of them, leaning against the back wall with his arms crossed calmly against his chest, a small smile planted on his face. When we get within range of the group I hear a muffled whisper share between Faye and Maxon, though neither of them seems all that happy to see us.

"It's about time you showed up," Faye sneers, moving closer to us and using her eyes as a means to try and intimidate us. "We have been waiting forever for you two."

"Training doesn't even start for another fifteen minutes Faye," Callena retorts and folds her arms across her chest, trying to match Faye's position but only managing to make herself look like a pouting child.

"Still," Faye spits and with a flip of her hair she turns back to Vulcan who has not moved from his pose against the wall. "What now, leader_."_

Vulcan pries himself away from the wall and stands to his full height which is only slightly smaller than my own, leaving him to tower over the rest of the group. "Today we start training for real. Jax and Caddis, you two can go practice with spears."

"My best weapon is a sword," I say calmly, not allowing any sort of emotion to register on my face. If this guy expects to be a decent leader, he should at least try and learn what his allies are good at. I never found an appeal in training with spears, those being the weapon more suited to District Fours, and swords have always been better for me. After watching Caddis yesterday I know he is the same way, despite being from the District of spears and tridents, he has skills with a sword that probably match my own.

"I know that," Vulcan shakes his head at me as if explaining something for the hundredth time to an incompetent child. "But what if there are no swords this year? Then you're out of commission aren't you? Better to master more than one weapons, don't you think?"

My eyes narrow at the boy but I say nothing more as caddis and I step away from the group and make our way towards the station created for teaching the use of spears. Our leader might think he's on top now, but nothing is set in stone for him. No one, not even Mr. High and Mighty, is immune to death.

* * *

**Maxon Slate, 17, District Two**

"You do realize we're supposed to be training, not just gawking at the scenery."

Faye stands with her arm poised to throw a small, curved knife. Under our _wonderful _ leader's command I had been paired with thin, little, redheaded Faye who had done nothing but pout and glare since I'd had the _pleasure _of meeting her. Yesterday I'd learned that she is fairly handy with a spear, though her sword and short distance knife skills were something to be desired. She and Vulcan had been staring at each other for the past two days and it was starting to get on my nerves. Not the fact that two of my favourite people were basically a pair, but that having a couple in the alliance would be incredibly irritating and unnecessary. This was the Hunger Games, where only one person can come out alive. The only thing a romance would do for you in this game is tear apart your emotions. This was a physical game, the less you brought feelings into the mix the better.

"Unlike you I already have the experience to win, but I understand if you feel the need to keep working," I smirk and watch as Faye turns to me with the knife still poised between two long, perfect fingers. Her bright eyes narrowing and her lips becoming thinner as she glares at me. Without moving her eyes from me, Faye releases the knife and it slices through the tense air. It lands with a _plink _on the target, embedding itself in the second ring outside of the bull's eye.

"Not bad, sweetheart. Maybe next time you'll get close enough to actually call yourself a Career," I smirk and her head snaps towards the target, her eyes opening slightly before she turns back to me. With a flip of her hair she dismisses me and goes to grab six more knives from the instructor.

I glance around the room once again and a smile finds its way to my lips when I spot the poisons station. I go over to where a brown-haired girl with a six on her sleeve sits in front of a tray containing a variety of vials containing many colors of liquids. I stand over her and snatch one of the vials from the tray, watching as she stares up at me with wide eyes.

"What's this one do?" I ask brashly. It takes her a while to answer me, her words falling over each other as she tries to formulate some sort of response to a seemingly odd question.

"It's a really strong glue," she stutters with her eyes never wavering from the vial I hold in front of her face. "Dries on contact."

This is all I need to hear, I turn sharply away from the girl and walk back over to Faye. My ally has her back turned away from me and holds two knives in her hands, glaring determinedly at the target full of near bull's eyes. The table behind her holds another three knives, ready to be thrown just like the ones in her hands. I make my steps quiet and approach the table, pouring bits of the vial over the three knives.

I throw the rest of the glass vial over my shoulder and it shatters as it hits the ground. A group of startled tributes hanging around by the archery station look in my direction and I smile back. At once all five pairs of eyes flock to the ground. An Avox comes over with a small vacuum and sucks up the shattered glass.

I walk around the knife station to the opposite side from where Faye practices, grabbing a couple of knives to practice with and awaiting the moment when Faye will realize that I am far more dangerous than she thinks. I'm not just a Career, I'm much, much more.

* * *

**Wyre Felix, 14, District Three**

I just watch Fuze as he tampers with a piece of rope, trying to formulate it into the knot featured in the picture on the wall in front of him. His fingers move quickly but the movements are all wrong, a weave where there should be a dip, a dip where he needs a coil. I can already tell that the knot will not come out looking as the photo does, but even though we are allies I don't feel comfortable enough to tell him what he's doing wrong. Instead I just stand by and watch, my own length of rope lying abandoned on the table in front of me.

Fuze looks up from his intent concentration and a smile finds its way to his lips, though my own are unable to mimic it. He holds my eyes for a second before I allow them to drop to my rope, taking the length in my hands and tangling with it numbly. After a few seconds Fuze too returns to his work, without so much as a word to me. Not that it bothers me very much, though it was sort of nice to have someone think me worth the effort again.

It's been a long time since anyone really took the time to try and break my shell. Many years at least. But I do miss the time when I had friends and felt so carefree, sometimes I think it might be better to be in ignorant bliss than to be weighed down by truths you cannot handle. I don't have a choice anymore though, it's not as if I can just forget reality. That is simply not possible.

I scan my eyes over the other stations, by now most of the tributes have found allies and are working with them to try and get a strategy together. There is another group of two standing near the weapons stations, just a few metres from where two of the Career boys are practicing with throwing knives. I use the word "practicing" as the loosest of terms, practicing would imply that they are getting better. Though they had been hitting the targets for a while and not one knife had strayed from the middle ring. They had no need to continue with the weapons, for now it only looked like a monotonous drill. Surely not even the Career pack would throw away their Training time by repeating something they already knew? That would not be the smartest move. It is better to improve upon a weakness than to merely showcase a strength.

My eyes return to the rope that lay idly between my fingers. I set the piece back on the table and stand up, scanning the room for another empty station. Fuze stands hurriedly behind me, startled by my sudden movement, but I don't acknowledge him. Finally I see a trainer sitting at a station with photos of plants all around her, a bored expression on her face.

I'm going to learn something that I don't know, something that will hopefully help me stay alive.

* * *

**Caddis Tamar, 18, District Four**

Another knife lands on the target, my wrist having flung it easily towards the structure for what feels like the hundredth time today. Once again it lands on the centre ring. Beside me, Jax lets another knife fly and that too makes a dent in the middle of the target. His face remains impassive, bored even, which I am sure my own face mimics. This is just like training back in Four, the only real difference being that here I do not have trainers that continuously praise me and try to convince me that volunteering will change my life. No, that isn't necessary anymore. I am already here, a tribute in the Hunger Games, something I had never planned to be.

Maybe training was a talent of mine, maybe it calmed me down after a long day. I enjoyed it, just like any other trainee at the time, but I enjoyed it for different reasons. The wannabe-volunteers wanted, no, _craved_ the fame and fortune that they would gain if they won. They relished in the power that coursed through their veins when they held something so deadly. They wanted to take a life, they didn't care about anything other than their own gains. They were _selfish. _

I only did it because it was something that was natural to want. Most kids in my district have trained at one point in their lives, even just for a few days. Most of my friends, excluding Elizabel and Gander, are from the Training Center. My trainers always tried to get me to want to win, so that I would volunteer. But my heart was never in it, I figured that after this year I could quit the Center and continue my life as normal, taking up more hours in the fishing industry like my Father. There is rarely a shortage of volunteers, and I can't help but think that my being here is no accident.

But I can't think about that, not now when I need to have my head in this. Not when I need to be training my mind to think like my allies, to want to kill, to want to win. Even though, deep inside myself, I know that I will never have their mindset.

"No offense, but I'm surprised your even here."

I turn around to face my ally, Jax, but he isn't even looking at me. He stares forward as he trains the knife on the target, releasing it with a controlled force and sending it flying into the bull's eye. I ask him what he means and he doesn't answer me for a while, letting another knife fly into the target. Just as I am about to speak again though he turns to look at me.

"The rest of us are volunteers, this alliance is for trained volunteers. Doesn't exactly seem like you fit, does it?"

I had gone over this question with my mentor the previous night. I knew what I was supposed to say, but those eyes. They seemed to look deeper than just my skin, it's as if he can see the lie I am about to tell, even as I allow it to seep through my teeth.

"I planned to volunteer this year, I guess it was just luck that I was pulled," I say, holding his accusing gaze as well as I can so that I can make my lie believable. Wren had told me that in order to be let into the Careers I would have to lie, to make them believe I was one of them. Jax' eyes search mine and for a minute I think about just running away from the station right now. He knows I'm lying, and he will tell the others. I just know it, my thin cover has already been blown.

"Okay," he says simply before breaking our gaze and returning to the back table to collect another handful of knives. I cannot help but breathe a sigh of relief, though I can feel it in my guts that he knows. I just hope that he will keep the information to himself, even just for a little bit.

My hand releases another knife and I allow a wicked smile to plaster on my face, once again taking on the role of the typical Career boy. Maybe it's okay to play a role in this Game. After all, there are no rules stating you have to enter the arena as yourself.

* * *

**Miram Rivett, 15, District Five**

"Can't we go to a different station?" Sedo asks cautiously, not exactly certain with himself but breaking my concentration either way. My arrow goes well off target and lands on the wall behind the dart board. I turn and look at him coldly for a slight second before restringing my arrow and taking aim once again. He has been asking this all morning, if we could leave the archery station that seems to have become something of a hangout spot for this alliance. This is where I met both Amaran and Noeah, and also where we unfortunately stumbled upon the District Eight pair. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, I mean, I wasn't against letting them in. But now all Amaran has done is coo over Areyna, the twelve year old whom is Sedo's district partner.

Areyna doesn't say much, but I find her excruciatingly annoying despite this. Everything she does is "adorable" and "sweet", and no notice is given when I manage to hit the rings with my arrow or even the single time I landed a bull's eye. Not one word, just an approving glance from Noeah, who continues to strike the target with innate accuracy. I have to be better than him, I just have to. His skills have given him worth in this alliance, I must make my skills better and therefore make myself better.

"Maybe we could take a break, Miram?" Amaran asks softly and I turn to look at her, my arrow pointed down to the floor as was instructed.

"I'll stay here, you guys go ahead."

"Are you sure? There are plenty of other stations that we should visit. You never know what the arena could be," Amaran reasons. But she doesn't understand. I need to know how to do this, I cannot be upstaged by someone else, not by Noeah and certainly not by Areyna. Neither of them will take the attention off of me, I _will _be the best.

"I'm sure."

They start walking away and I see Areyna stare back at me for just a second longer than the others, her hazel eyes huge and full of youth. My face remains void of expression but when I hear Amaran call after her, not wanting the younger girl to be left alone, I can't help but scowl. I draw up my bow again and take aim, picturing the target at the young girl's sickeningly sweet face. I let the arrow fly and sure enough, it's a perfect bull's eye.

* * *

**Geare Petrol, 13, District Six**

I watch as Mayli and Toriton talk below ducked heads in the quietest voices they can create. My ears strain to make sense of the sounds but to no avail. I can't exactly understand what they are being so hush-hush about, we are supposed to be allies. Right now it seems we are in a dictatorship, with Toriton as our leader and Mayli his first lady.

Enya stands a bit away from the rest of us, just watching Toriton and Mayli with wide, curious eyes. She doesn't really talk much, in fact I can't remember her speaking one word to me since she and Toriton joined Mayli and I. Sometimes I see her eyes scan along the endless rows of stations, seemingly searching for something or someone with a dream-like expression on her face. But soon enough her eyes return back to the two dictators and once again they appear blank. Why doesn't she make an effort to get in on the discussion? I had already tried, though I was immediately dismissed, my age being a major factor in that. But she is of similar age to them, and she seems so uncomfortable when they talk together in hushed tones. I can't really blame her, but I wish she would try and stand up for us. It's only the second day, but already I am sick of being forgotten.

My eyes wander to the other stations, my mind unable to process all the different kinds of material, from weaponry to plant life. I feel my eyes drift off towards the shimmering glint that comes from the knives station. A girl with red hair stands by the station near another girl with short, dark hair. Both of them throw the shiny blades viciously, risking glances between the, acting as though the whole thing were no more than a simple competition.

_Go on over, Geare. They look so new, you could really do some damage. _

_Just for a few minutes, Geare, how nice it would feel to have that kind of power in your hands. _

I thrust my hands over my ears, startling Enya who flinches at my sudden movement. I lock my jaw and concentrate on my own voice, the one in my head not the one out loud. Those voices weren't mine, they are too sinister to be mine. But yet they sounded all too familiar. It's only your imagination, isn't that what Mommy always said? The voices aren't real, my mind is just playing tricks on me again.

But it doesn't feel like a trick, and it never has. They always return to me, their evil sounds filling my head with desires that I could never have thought of myself. They're taking me over, I can feel it. I just want everything to slow down. I need time to think without interruption of these, these _things. _All I ask for is just fifteen minutes of peace, to understand which of the voices is truly mine.

* * *

**Kiera Maaz, 16, District Seven**

I grab the small axe from the shaking hands of the trainer. I can tell that he is young, also fairly new as it stands. His eyes never meet mine and even while holding the small weapon for a few seconds as he hands it to me I can see the nerves evident on his face. It makes me smile to think that even the people in here, where they are basically as safe as can be, are scared of what could happen. He can feel the tension in the air just as I can, and it clearly bothers him. It makes me almost feel connected to him in a way, both of us are alone in a place that could very well kill us if the situation arose.

I toss the weapon between my hands, feeling the harsh metal texture and getting a feel for the surprising weight of the thing. The entire axe is made of metal, a simple, long handle that is roughly a foot long and a triangular blade that sits unevenly at the top of the stick. I learned its name back at home, though I never had the privilege of using one, a hurl bat. It was far too small of a pick to be of any use in the forests, though I was never quite sure if it could even serve a purpose in the workplace had it been larger. It was clearly a lethal weapon, not something that was to be used to chop down trees or split wood. It is notably smaller and lighter than the ones I am used to, but that is why we getting training, to learn how to hone in on the skills we already have and make them deadly.

I step away from the specialized weapon booth and make my way towards the largest target range. Already a few tributes are using it, the District Five girl for archery, and the Career boy from Two and girl from One. The girl looks extremely annoyed with the boy as he speaks to her in a voice so stern and pronounced that even I can hear it from this distance away.

"You have to try harder, Callena," he tells the shorter girl. "A tribute from One should hardly be the least skilled of the Pack."

This statement earns the boy a hard glare and a hushed shriek of sorts in response. The girl tosses the spear over her shoulder, the long weapon looking rather funny in the hands of the short tributes, and the tip of the spear embeds itself up to the shaft in the third center ring of the target. He smiles at her and I read his lips as he makes his hushed response, better, he says.

I hurl my axe over my shoulder as I make it close enough to the targets to do so. The blade lands horizontally on the target, with the sharp side slicing across the center. I look up with a smirk on my face but neither of the Careers even so much as look in my direction, despite me being just a few metres away from them. I walk up to the target and yank the blade from the cork. Maybe they don't notice me now, but, mark my words, they will.

* * *

**Areyna Kyte, 12, District Eight**

This whole place is just so big, there are so many stations, each with a special trainer. Everything would be so fantastic to see, had I no idea why I was truly here.

Amaran and Sedo are really nice, though I wish they would understand that I am just as capable as they are. I'm not some toddler that needs to be coddled or cooed over. I may be the youngest tribute here, but that doesn't mean I am oblivious to what is happening here. We are being trained to kill each other, and no matter who are allies are, only one of us can actually survive until next month. I also know something else, that person can't be me.

The Hunger Games have been going on for many years, and I have watched them consciously for my entire life. I can only remember the past few years though, and of course the stories that we are told about some of the Victors. To my knowledge the youngest Victor was a girl from District Three who was thirteen years old. She won by using poisons on her last opponent. I am a year younger than her and have no knowledge like that that could save me. Sedo and I had tried to learn some of the less direct weapons, but poisons and memorization of plant material was not something I had ever needed to know, and definitely was not something I excelled at.

I look over to Sedo who sits slightly away from Noeah, Amaran, and I, crossed-legged and with a table in front of him full of different leaves. I abandon my own spot beside Amaran, causing her to look up at me curiously as I walk over to sit beside Sedo.

"Why don't you come over and sit with us?" I ask him, making my voice quiet so that no one but him can hear me. His face is downturned to look at the tray of plants but I can see that his eyes are not trained on the material, but rather on his hands that remain clasped tightly together. "Are you alright, Sedo?"

He glances up at me and I can see the beginnings of tears in his eyes, "I'm fine."

"No you're not," I whisper and place a hand on his shoulder, feeling them tremble with the effort of keeping the tears inside him. I see a single spot of water drip down his face but it's brushed away almost immediately. "Why are you crying?"

"They're happy tears Areyna," he whispers back to me, a slight smile finding its way to his cheeks. "I've never been so included until now."

I rest my head on his shoulder as he brings me in for a hug, and I feel more tears slip through the fabric of my training suit. I don't know exactly what he means, but I am glad he is happy, even in a place like this someone deserves to feel happy. Out of the corner of my eye I notice some of the weapons stations, the Career tributes taking over many of them. And then I see Miram, standing by herself. Her eyes meet mine and I see something other than recognition. I see hatred.

* * *

**Noeah Hazurn, 17, District Nine**

My hands linger over a pointed leaf with parallel veining and I hold it up to the trainer. She shakes her head once again and I place it down on the tray in front of me. I just can't find the right one, I wish we could go back to archery. I don't know what's going on here, at least over there I felt familiar with the material. I look over at Amaran who carefully studies her leaf tray, also looking for the correct one among the dozens there. I sigh and begin to scan over them looking for the correct one.

A shriek pierces my eardrums and causes me to stand up quickly, knocking over both mine and Amaran's trays in the process. She doesn't even notice, quickly getting to her feet as well. We don't have to look far to find the source of the scream. A gasp escapes both mine and Amaran's mouths in sync as we both begin to process what we are seeing.

Everything in the Training Centre has gone still, everyone looking to the station where my allies are located. All eyes are trained on Areyna, whose lies still on the floor with an arrow protruding from her neck. The only thing that seems to be moving is the thick stream of blood coming from the sharp point, layering over her black training suit and some even pooling around her head already, coating her forehead in the thick liquid. Her hazel eyes are unmoving and no sound escapes her.

Everyone begins to move at once, I hear a thud and a cry from one of the weaponry stations and when I look up I see Miram collapsed on the floor, her body shaking with sobs. A scream escapes her lips when she looks up and Areyna comes into her view. Then, once again, she buries her head in her hands.

A large group of men, all dressed very similarly to Peacekeepers only in black, march quickly from the front door of the Training Center, each one rushing over to a tribute and pushing them up against the walls of the Centre. Two of them run over to Amaran and I, prodding us with their stun rifles until we compliantly walk backwards towards the wall, not that any one of the tributes was in much of a mood to resist.

From the side of the tall man in front of me, I see a foursome of white suited people, one woman and three men, they all crowd around Areyna who still lies on the floor with not but a sound escaping from her lips. One of them calls some words that I don't understand over his shoulder and another group of white clothed people run into the Centre, carrying a long piece of fabric with sticks running across it. They put it down beside the first group and together they work to lift the still girl from the floor and onto the contraption.

The last thing I see of my little ally is her face as her head flops over the side of the strange device, her hazel eyes still and unmoving, much like those of the starved corpses that are found so often back in District Nine.

* * *

**Enya Hale, 15, District Ten**

I feel the poke of a rifle in my shoulder and I push myself further back into the Training Centre wall. I look frantically to one side, seeing Geare and Toriton, both far apart and at least several metres away from me. I plead at the back of Geare's head, willing him to turn around and face me. None of my allies have gotten very close to me, but I just need to see someone else. To make sure that they are just as confused and scared as I am right now.

I don't know what exactly happened. My alliance and I had been making our way between stations when a high-pitched shriek made my blood run cold and I saw a the bloody face of a girl who looked many years younger than myself. That was all any of us did for several seconds, just look at the girl with the blood all around her, just look at her and imagine that that could be what we will look like in just a few days.

Now I stand here with my face far too close to a bulky, black suited man who pokes and prods me with a long gun anytime I dare to so much as breathe. I see a flash of white come in through the doors of the Training Centre and a minute or so later I see another group of white. Then I see them all leave the same way they'd come, but still the man doesn't let me move from my place. Tears start to run down my face and I don't bother to try and stop them, no one looks at me anyway. I just let the tears come until I can manage to speak through my choked sobs.

"What's going on?"

The man simply shushes me and pokes me in the arm to move me further into the wall I am already pressed into. I mange to make out movement on the balcony above the Training Centre and then a voice echoes through the whispered chaos, silencing everyone with just the first word.

"Tributes, training is now over. You will be escorted to your floors, wait there and word will be sent to your mentors."

I don't know what he means, but the large men seem to as four of them peel themselves and the tributes they guard away from the wall. I watch as the tributes from One and Two are brought over to the elevators, each one stepping into a separate lift with their dark clothed man. The rest of us remained pressed against the wall, waiting for the cue that will send us back up to our floors and away from this disgusting place.

"I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to!" I hear a voice cry and shriek through the silence that has landed upon the Training Center. "I didn't know how to use it!"

The voice is promptly cut off and silence ensues once more. I stand is painstaking patience as the tributes are escorted alone to the elevator, two districts as a time. Finally when Nine and Ten are brought to the elevators, I risk a glance back at the place where the girl had been shot with an arrow and, sure enough, the floor was painted crimson.

* * *

**Cain Frost, 17, District Eleven**

The black suit shoves me into the elevator and hits the button labelled with the number eleven. He stands with his long, thin rifle gripped tightly in his hands, almost as if he expected me to attack him right here and now. But I just close my eyes and wait for the telltale beeping that would signal our arrival at my floor. I hear a door slam just as I step out of the elevator and I see another man in black standing outside the door leading to Olive's room. His rifle is held at the ready and he eyes me with distaste and my own guard leads me to my room.

"Where are Quinn and Seeder?" I ask and when my question goes unanswered I repeat myself in a much louder voice.

"In a meeting," he says gruffly, "when rules are broken, actions need to be taken."

He punctuates the last word of his sentence by shoving me into my bedroom and closing the door with a loud slam behind him. I stand at the door for a few moments, unsure why I was being kept in here when I had done nothing wrong.

_It was that other girl, _I thought to myself, _the one from Five. _

It was true, I had been at the short range weapons station which was situated by the archery station. The little girl had looked troubled and I remember mentioning it to Alpine and Dove. They had only shrugged and dismissed the situation as being beyond their duty, but I couldn't help but watch as the younger girl snuck looks at a station across the aisle. I had tried to follow her gaze many times, but nothing had caught my eye as being abnormal. I too tried to dismiss the girl but something about the tense movements of her arms as she took aim made me wary of her. Just watching her gave me a feeling of dread.

And of course I was right.

Taking a break from my sickle I had been watching the girl load her arrow, this time with a somewhat happier feeling about her. She locked her aim at the target but her eyes remained fixated on something else. As she began to release her arrow she swiftly moved her arms around to face the direction in which she had been looking. She let the arrow fly and, when a shriek cut through the air, she'd dropped to her knees in sobs.

The Games is more deadly than I had ever imagined. And they haven't even started yet.

* * *

**Rivers Bishop, 14, District Twelve**

A knock on the door makes my entire body flinch. I don't move from my position on the floor but I make myself visible to whoever could be knocking. I don't know how long I had been in here, but I just wanted to leave. I had thought about what had happened today until my brain ached with the effort. I just didn't know what to think. Was the girl dead? She couldn't be dead. Were there only going to be twenty-three tributes? There had to be twenty-four. What was going to happen to us? I don't know.

All of these questions and many others ran through my mind, not even allowing me to sleep for fear that the vision of the bloody girl would make an appearance even in my subconscious. I'd cried, yes I had cried too much for one day. I just wanted to know what was going on. Even if it wouldn't be an answer I would want to hear.

"Rivers, you are needed in the dining room," a voice calls to me from outside the door and I stand up immediately. I would be allowed to leave this room, this room that had nothing but my thoughts and my imagination to keep me occupied. I begin to walk towards the door when I see the black clothed guard enter into my room. My heart stops and my legs cease to move at the sight of the man. Why was he still here? Had I done something wrong? Was I going to be punished?

The man pushed past my bed and stepped behind me, prodding me once again with the tip of his gun and causing me to stumble forward, almost falling back down to the floor. He catches me by the collar of my training suit that I realize I am still wearing, and stabilizes me on my feet.

I see Amaran is already seated on a chair in the dining room, with a guard standing behind her, his hands placed firmly on the chair behind her head. My own guard pulls out a chair a few feet away from Amaran and pushed me into it, my head hitting the back rim of the chair and causing what I am sure will soon be a bruise. Ridge sits down in a chair between Amaran and I and looks at us each in turn, seeming to scan out eyes for guilt or something. I meet his eyes and raise one eyebrow in a silent question, though if he sees it he doesn't acknowledge it.

An Avox whom I didn't notice when I'd come in walks to the table that sits in front of us and lifts the lid of an extremely thin box that lights up with the red man's touch. A frightening close up of the Head Gamemaker comes onto the lid of the box and he stares intently at all of us, making me squirm in my chair.

"Good evening, tributes. This is a message from your Gamemakers. Today a violation of our Training Centre rules has been made, and those, I assure you, are not to be taken lightly. Repercussions must be made for what occurred this morning. Training will be cancelled for tomorrow, and you will all be given just two minutes to make your presentations to the Gamemakers. Interviews will go on as planned. The public will not be made aware of what has happened today, all twenty-four of you have been given your final warning."

* * *

**The artist theme for this story will be **_**Three Days Grace.**_

**Song: **_**World So Cold**_

* * *

**The blog for this story can be found on my profile. **

**I really appreciate hearing your thoughts on the tributes,as well as a general review of my writing. It helps me to understand what you guys want from certain characters and from the story in general.**

* * *

**So sorry for the late update again, but did you enjoy the first twist ;) Let me know what you think, and how you think this is going to affect the Games and the tributes. I would really like some feedback about how it was executed, writing this made me so nervous as to what kind of a reaction I would get.**


	6. The Life I Used To Know

**On My Own by Three Days Grace**

_Standing on my own_

_Remembering the one I left at home_

_Forget about the life I used to know_

_Forget about the one I left at home._

* * *

**Callena Martis, 17, District One**

I lay awake on my bed, my thoughts not allowing me any sleep even in the early morning hours. I just couldn't sleep last night, all I could think of was Training yesterday, as I'm sure was the case with every other tribute. The tributes aren't supposed to die until the gong sounded, that was a given. But I just can't forget the still expression on the face of the younger tribute, there is no way she could still be alive even with the Capitol's technology. They couldn't bring someone back from the dead, or could they? I don't think anyone knows the true expanses of the Capitol's abilities.

But if they couldn't bring her back, what would they do?

What kept bothering me all through the night was not the death, that was what I had been raised to be immune to. I was a Career and death was not supposed to affect me, and it didn't. Everyone knew the rule of keeping the weapons to yourself until the Games, but what really was there to stop someone from starting the Games early? I guess what truly had been bothering me was the fact that some puny tribute from Five had thought of the idea before I had. What better way to prove to the other tributes how deadly you were than to show them what their fate would soon be? The leadership position in our alliance would have been mine for the taking, not that I would want it, but I could have been unstoppable.

It didn't matter anymore though, it had happened once and the Capitol would never let it happen again. What would they do with only twenty-three tributes? Could they tell the public that they had allowed a young girl to completely disobey their rules and go unpunished? They couldn't do that, Rebellion would be imminent. If a young tribute could take on the rules than what was to stop an entire district for doing the same, or better yet, twelve entire districts? No, the Capitol would never allow that. But my mind kept reeling with the question, how would they make up for it?

None of these questions would be answered, this much I know. I would not be permitted to ask, or I would be risking a lot. Maybe some of the outlying tributes had nothing to lose by irritating the Gamemakers and ensuring their own deaths. Heck, most of them have probably already given up and accepted the fact that they would never be going home. I haven't though, I have so much to gain, and everything to lose. I have to play my cards right and just go along with whatever comes out of this. I have to find out what's going on though, that much is certain, and I have to use it to my advantage somehow.

* * *

**Vulcan Crater, 18, District Two**

I stretch and move my feet to the warmed floor, my head still blurring with sleep and my eyelids feeling like shutters keeping away the amazingly bright world that shines in through my window. I spin my neck around to work out the kinks that had formed as I slept and rub my eyes one last time before rising to my feet and walking towards the private bathroom that connects to my room. I run the water to a slightly lukewarm temperature and wash my face with one of the scented towels, seeming to forever implant the smell of wild berries into my nostrils even after I try and sneeze it away. I comb my hair with wet fingertips and return to my room, consciously scanning the room for the training suit that had been left on my door handle for the past two days. When I finally spot it, it is the same one from yesterday, lying in a crumpled heap on my floor.

That's when I remember the last day's events, neither me nor Maxon had been allowed out of our rooms except to hear the video message from the Head Gamemaker. To my memory, no had had entered or exited my room since I was brought back in this cage. Which means that no new clothes had been brought, nor had my old clothes been taken from their place on the floor.

I sigh and grab the stretchy black pants and shirt from the ground, smoothing both out on my bed as well as I can before removing the pants I had slept in and replacing the still warm suit on my body. I take a look in the mirror before leaving my room and run my hands down the length of my outfit, trying in vain to hide the thick wrinkles that plague the entire thing.

When I close the door behind me, the sound echoes through the near silent room, the only movement that catches my eye being that of a red-clothed Avox as they cover their mouth to cough. I take it upon myself to grab a plate of fruits and breads from the long buffet before seating myself at the head of the table.

"You're up early," I hear a voice declare from behind me. "Training is cancelled today, Vulcan,they probably won't call you until the sessions are ready to start. But who knows, everything's been turned upside down since yesterday."

I shrug and my mentor, Lyme, grabs her own plate from the pile and loads food onto it. She sits down beside me and begins eating, not bothering to so much as look at me. I attempt to catch her eye for a few moments but soon decide against it and turn to my plate where the rich tastes await me.

"Any tips for today," I ask Lyme sheepishly. It's not like any extra help will kill me, especially that of someone who had already been in my position. Even when Maxon had decided to ignore the advice of her mentor, Aeries, I always knew I would look to Lyme like an idol of sorts. It could never hurt to get some inside perspective on what I should expect.

"Impress them," she says simply without even looking up at me. I open my mouth but before I get the chance to say anything, one of the black guards taps me on the shoulder and motions me towards the door. I abandon my full plate at the table and stand to my full height, nearly matching that of the black-suit. He motions with his rifle, a cowardly weapon in my opinion, towards the door and I head in that direction obediently. No use fighting petty battles, especially when soon I will be fighting the ultimate war, the one that I cannot afford to lose.

* * *

**Fuze Lypton, 16, District Three**

I think again to what my Mentor told me to do during the sessions. Wyre and I had decided to try and get the best scores possible, which are probably going to be mediocre at best. It isn't that we are untalented or that we have no chance at winning, that's not it at all. But we will both be performing within the Careers time, between districts Two and Four. District Three oftentimes will come out with less than desirable scores because of this.

Wyre has her traps that she will perform, as both myself and Tesla have persuaded her to. She was at first nervous that they wouldn't work right, but finally realized that this really was her only chance at getting a good score. One that would bring us both sponsors or at the very least, prove to the other tributes that she was not as fragile and incompetent as I am sure they all think she is. Her mind is her weapon, and if I can keep her safe long enough for us to get away and have her set to work some of the projects she has learned, we will be unstoppable. One of us could win.

The same black suited guard that escorted me upstairs yesterday pushes me out of the elevator and I enter into the training room. It looks so much more foreboding than it did during the last two days, the entire place having a dark, abandoned feel to it. Up at the balcony, a panel of Gamemakers sit in waiting, their clipboards sitting firmly on their laps. Only two have drinks in their hands and the rest of them stare down at me, the interest still budding inside them from the last four sessions. The Careers, the ones who the Gamemakers want to see. Maybe it is a blessing that my district lands between them, they all watch my every move like I am some sort of film that they are waiting to watch. As long as I can keep their interest with my performance, they will still hold up this state of mind for Wyre.

The only problem is, I had spent most of my training time assisting Wyre, I had no idea what I was good at.

My eyes run their way over the different stations that are still set out exactly how I remember them. I see the knife station and remember how the others had trained with this weapon. Even the smaller girl from Nine who didn't look like she could so much as lift a weapon let alone use it had done fairly well there. It was settled, I would go there last so that their interest would be kept for Wyre's session. First I will go to the survival stations that she and I had practiced at.

I hear someone clear their throat from above and I glance up to see a man with spiked black hair and pointed green eyes staring directly at me. "Your name, boy?"

I turn a deep shade of red, I had almost forgotten what Beetee had told me about introducing myself before I began. I stand up to my full height and clear my throat quietly, trying to clear the nerves out of my body.

"Fuze Lypton, District Three."

* * *

**Faye Darson, 18, District Four**

When I enter the room the Gamemakers all but fall over each other to look at me. I smile radiantly and watch as the few that had been drinking tear their eyes from their glasses to gaze at me, one even dropping their glass which shatters upon hitting the floor. The noise echoes through the silence that my entrance has created and the smile on my face grows.

"Faye Darson, District Four," I say, drawing out each syllable as my eyes flicker between each of the well dressed Gamemakers. None of their eyes leave my body even after I turn and walk away from the centre of the room, drawn to the spear range like a moth to a lantern. My hands clasp around one of the longer spears, the metal chilling my fingers just slightly until the warmth from my hands turns the steel hot. I turn to the Gamemakers and request a fighting partner, their baffled looks are enough to make me smirk. Many tributes think that the spear is only to be used for long range, but they are wrong.

A slender man in a black jumpsuit walks out of a door that I had never noticed before, hidden away in the shadows of the Training Centre. He has a relatively natural appearance, but with a design of swirls tattooed into the skin of his neck. He does nothing but look to the back wall blankly and walk straight past me to the wide array of spears. I commend his choice of a slightly shorter spear, one that is only about the length of one of his thin arms. I smile, knowing that this will be far too easy.

The man takes a stance a few feet in front of me, his legs slightly apart in a defensive position. I waste no time in staging an attack, flying forward with a long inhalation. The man reflexively pulls his spear up in front of him, but what he doesn't know is that I am not attacking him. At the last second before hitting him I slide away, getting into a much better position where he has his back turned to me. Without a moment of hesitation I lash out at his exposed back with the blunt end of my spear, sending him flying forward. Before he can regain his balance I take another swipe at his knees, ensuring that the man find a comfortable place on the floor with the pointed tip of my spear aimed at his chest and my pretty face grinning over him.

* * *

**Toriton Aszero, 15, District Five**

"Boy, you only have five minutes."

I glare up at the man who has spoken, whose face is a mask of frustration as well as of helplessness as I stand here with my arms pressed deliberately against my chest. I am not doing this, no matter what my mentor tells me about behaving and doing what I can to get sponsors, I just won't do it. I won't be some stupid little pet of these strange people. The very thought brings heated anger to my face.

"I know," I say simply, my eyes never leaving those of the man who has spoken. He seems to be in charge of them all, those other people who all wear the same disgusting uniform. They had already begun to make their way over to the table of food that was being spread out by a bunch of people in red who all looked tired and slightly sad. But I feel no pity for these red people, they are just like the others, no regard for what is going on, and not even willing to speak up when they can see what is going on. And I know they see it.

I know because I catch one of their gazes and they hold it for just a moment, long enough for me to understand that they know what I am going through. But they don't, not really. It makes me want to scream at the top of my lungs from the roof of this hell hole, scream about all the things that are wrong in this place and with the people who are living in it. For now, though, all I can do is stand here and show my defiance. It's not much, but I refuse to play their game, and everyone will know it. Eventually everything comes to an end, that is the only this that stops me from grabbing hold of one of those knives at a station near me and throwing it onto the stupid balcony that these ridiculous people sit on.

They all begin to migrate towards the trays of drinks that are carried out by more of those red people. My head begins to throb with all the anger that threatens to come out all at once. Here I am trying to make just one stand to show them that I won't do it, that I won't be their little performer that will jump through fiery hoops to keep them entertained. But even now they don't care, even when I am trying to do something that would probably be considered rebellion they don't care.

I grab the nearest thing to me, a long handled knife that feels immensely heavy in my hand. I throw it, as far as I can across the room. My head turns to see the panel of Gamemakers stopping what they were doing and turning to look at where the knife had ended up. I don't even bother to look in that direction before I storm out of the room, pushing over two training dummies on my way out.

* * *

**Mayli Dear, 16, District Six**

I try and touch the pictures as quickly as possible, but the red "X"s that sow up when I get something wrong, along with the low beeping that happens, makes my hands shake so I keep messing up. My eyes feel as though they are welling up with tears but I push them away. What little attention I may still have depends on me staying strong. I can't show them I am weak, I may be unskilled, but maybe if I pretend to be tough they will believe it and give me an alright score. That is all I need, just to be average would please me.

But I see the hope of that slipping away as another low beep echoes through the Training Centre, causing me to flinch and hit another wrong picture. I remember doing this same thing in training the first day, it was never this hard then. Why can't I do it now? But I know the answer without having to voice the question, it is because they are watching me this time.

After hitting another wrong picture the board restarts and I sigh with relief, finally having an excuse to leave this station without looking like I have given up on it. I take quick, quiet steps past the station filled with sharp swords, shying away from even the quick glance that I take in of the deadly weapons. I feel sick in remembering the red-haired girl from District Four swinging around one of those sick things during training on the day that little girl was shot. I shiver at the memory but push it to the back of my mind. I can't think about it now, I can't afford to look weaker than I already look.

I step into the camouflage station, but now that all the pictures have been removed and only a tray filled with paints and other materials remains, I don't feel as comfortable here. I used to think it was so pretty in here, that the little photos of trees and bush were like the decorations of a house. But they are gone now, and all this place leaves me with is an empty heart.

I remember the time limit and quickly grab a jar of olive green and another of light brown. I apply it to my forearm in even strokes and feel myself start to get lost in the art of it. My mind drifts off for a moment before I re-enter reality, where I am being studied and primped before I will be launched into an arena and into a certain sentencing of death.

One of the Gamemakers clears his throat impatiently and I realize that my time must be almost over, I swipe one last streak of brown across my forearm and hurriedly rise to my feet. My breath catches on my throat as I approach one of the fake climbing trees that lay a few stations over from the camouflage station. I look back to the Gamemakers and see that most of them are far more occupied with their beverages than with watching my actions. I feel my cheeks heat up but continue on, hoping that the few studiers that remain will have mercy and give me a score that will not bring shame upon me.

I press my arm up against the tree and watch as it seems to disappear into the strange bark pattern. A few of the people on the balcony scribble words onto their clipboards before gladly accepting drinks from the tray of glasses that a woman in red brings out to them. Maybe they still noticed me. I try to still hold onto the hope that I have a chance, no matter how slight. I just wish there was a way that I could paint myself out of this place.

* * *

**Alpine Deerden, 17, District Seven**

I wait for the elevator to arrive and I feel the presence of the bulky, black-suited man before he loudly clears his throat to announce his appearance. I don't turn and look at him, instead I just stare straight ahead as the double doors slide open. The man nudges me forward before I can even think to move and instead of resisting I just do as instructed and walk into the elevator. The doors close behind me as I turn my body to stare at the crack where the doors meet, unable to stop myself from thinking of myself in terms of what the Gamemakers would have seen.

I wasn't that strong, I was able to lift one of the medium sized axes but even then anyone who was watching closely enough would have been able to see my struggles. I'd done my best to tear apart a few of the training dummies, the actions familiar to me but the intentions completely foreign. I had, as most citizens of District Seven, chopped a great deal of wood in my lifetime. Though this way something entirely different, all I kept doing was picturing the faceless dummies as the other tributes. I remember clearly watching as Cain and Dove's heads dropped to the ground. I remember slashing several times at the body of my district partner, Kiera. I remember hesitating before decapitating the little boy from Twelve, with his sweet smile that I had never yet seen him without.

I realized during that few minutes that I don't want to be that. I don't want to become a crazed killer that will stop at nothing to murder the other twenty-three children, several of whom are many years younger than I. I don't want that for myself, I can't live with that change. I couldn't look myself in the mirror everyday if I let myself do that, these brown eyes and this brown hair would never look the same to me.

But I know that not playing by their rules is a death sentence.

I just can't decide what I want anymore, it seems that either way I will lose myself. One way I lose myself to the Capitol, the other to death. But which is the better option? That I cannot decide. I know that my niece would want me to come home, she always was a kind child and she adored me. I don't want her to have to see me as a killer, but I don't want her to see me die. Either way I lose. Nothing will make this alright for me, there is no way out. Whatever I do there will be consequences.

I step out of the elevator doors and see Aspen sitting at the dining table, a sedated look on her aged face. Kiera and Cypress are nowhere to be found, so I assume that they will be in Kiera`s room to discuss her session, Kiera always did prefer to have her strategy meetings in private.

Aspen makes a move towards me but I avoid her and walk straight into my room, shutting the door behind me. I have only today and tomorrow to decide what I want. After that, it will be too late.

* * *

**Sedo Monya, 16, District Eight**

From my spot on the couch, I watch Areyna and Ander walk into the small sitting room in which a giant television screen has been set up. I immediately sigh with relief upon seeing her and I stand up to greet her. She looks even smaller than I remember, and changed somehow, but it is so similar to my young partner that I realize it must be her. Her eyes are downcast but as I take a step towards her they flicker up with panic, stopping me in my tracks.

"Just let her be for now," Twill whispers, rising to her feet and placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. "The girl's been through a lot, give her time."

I nod quickly and reseat myself next to my mentor, my eyes still following Areyna as she scurries across the room and sits down cautiously on the cushioned chair in the back corner of the room. She brings her knees up to her chest and hugs her arms around them, burying her small, tanned face until only her downcast eyes are visible. Ander seats himself comfortably on the loveseat, managing to take up both cushions by lying across them. Twill seems tense beside me and it puts me on edge for some reason, to see her gentle nature seemingly vanishing.

The screen flashes to life and the lights dim automatically, causing Twill to become even more rigid and making my eyes burn with the sudden light. My limbs convulse all at once when the image of the Interviewer and general Announcer plays onto the screen. Before now I had not seen his chosen appearance. Caesar Flickerman, who has held this position for at least as long as I can remember watching the Games, chooses a new color theme each year to play a major role in his wardrobe and just his general look. This year he wears a startling neon green suit, his hair and makeup all matching with the startling color. His dazzlingly white teeth take up a great proportion of the screen and I find myself leaning back into the cushions of my chair in a feeble attempt to get further away from this terrifying being.

"Welcome Panem to the broadcasting of the Training Scores! As you all well know, this year's tributes have spent the past three days building on their knowledge and gaining new skills that they are eager to show off in the arena in just a couple days," Caesar exclaims, wearing an overly forced smile the entire time. "The Gamemakers have awarded each tribute a score ranging from one to twelve, with twelve being the highest. I know you are all eager to hear how our tributes have done, so let me begin."

I tear my eyes away from the vision of green that takes over the television screen to sneak a glance back at Areyna. Even her eyes are wide and concentrated on the screen, unwavering until I bring my hand up in a tiny wave. Her face turns quickly to me and I am startled at first, confused after a half a second. I know why I thought she looked different. I remember that Areyna's eyes are hazel, this girl's eyes, they're _blue. _

* * *

**Lylac Medo, 13, District Nine**

My hands shake as I sit beside Noeah on one of the plush couches that line the room, far too many to be just for the five of us. But even then, Noeah insists on sitting beside me, sneaking glances at me when he thinks I am not looking at him. I know the look on his face though, recognize it well. Pity. He is feeling guilty that he never asked me to ally with him, as he should. Now I am left with just Rivers who is only a year older than myself. A boy who can offer me no protection, not like what Noeah and his bow could have offered me. For a moment I believe he might ask me here and now, but unfortunately his lips remain tightly shut.

As Caesar takes over the screen in his blinding green suit, my thoughts drift back to my private session this morning. I think I did alright, enough to maybe get a seven or so, and hopefully Rivers did okay too. If anything we need sponsors, neither of us is that confident in our ability to gather and recognize food sources. To guarantee that we won't be taken out by some sort of poisonous plant we need to get our food sent to us, safe food, food from the Capitol that will also give us comfort in the fact that people actually want to see us win.

If no sponsors appear, I will just have to remember to make sure he eats a bite of anything we find before I do.

The first score appears along with a picture of the District one girl. A blood red number nine pops onto the screen under her cheeky smile and I take a hard gulp of air. She was talented, I remember that much from our two days of training. If she only pulled a nine, than where does that leave me? A girl from an outlying district with no training, whereas this girl has likely had many years of experience with weapons.

Her face disappears and the boy from her district shows his stoic face, not cracking so much as a small smile, very much unlike his partner who smiled dazzlingly for the camera. He too received a nine, and along with the number my hopes of a high score dissipate. If two Careers cannot even pull a double digit, what hope do I have of only getting two points lower than them? I look over to Noeah for a reaction but his face is blank, eyes unwavering from the screen.

My own eyes wander back to the screen just in time to see the District Two girl's picture disappearing, along with the red eight that had been beneath her image. Her district partner lands two points higher than her, a ten. The highest score so far, the one that will no doubt be difficult to beat. The one that I know for a fact I have no hope in even coming close to.

A girl who looks about my age takes over the screen this time, a reassuring break from the Careers who all looked fearless and already assured in victory. Her face is less sure, her eyes dark and blank and her mouth pressed into a tight line. A blood red six pops onto the screen under her picture and I feel the hope build once again within me. Surely if this girl could manage a six, than I could?

But when her district partner, a boy at least three years older than me, pulls only a four, I once again feel the breath leave me. I just don't know where I stand. The wait feels eternal as I wait for my own image to flicker back at me. Though when the boy disappears, a redheaded girl takes control of the screen, her bright eyes seeming to demean me even though she is not even present in the same room as me. She receives a ten, tying with the boy from Two. Her district partner earns only one point lower, a nine. My hopes rise and fall along with the scores, I just want to see how I measure up.

* * *

**Dove Uppercut, 18, District Ten**

The little girl with the arrows from training earns an unsurprising six. With aim like she seemed to have, paired with the obvious killing ability that is somehow already instilled in a girl so young, I would have assumed for her to be a match for the Careers. Though everyone has to remember that she is young, no one her age could possibly be as deadly as one of those trained idiots, could they?

The boy from Five receives a four, pretty average of a score not that I expected him to get anything higher or lower. He is just another face that I don't know, just an average tribute to me, not someone to be overlooked but not someone to run myself with worry about.

The girl from District Six matches the other boy's four, her picture rising above the red number, a slight smile on her relatively blank face. The expression doesn't reach her eyes, which remain emotionless and empty. But the smile tells me something, it tell me that she is _trying. _And really, that is all anyone can do in this place. Sometimes it isn't just strength or skill that will win you the title. Never underestimate the power of both dumb luck and perseverance. One of those things in uncontrollable, and the other nearly unattainable.

Her district partner, the small boy with close cropped dark hair and a mischievous grin on his young face, pulls a five. This surprises me, he is the second smallest tribute, only after the girl from Eight who no one even knows if she is living or dead after yesterday. I can't help but hope that she is dead already. Not because I want her dead, but because it is the only way she will escape the hell that we will be sent into. With her age and likely injury, I couldn't imagine her lasting more than a minute in the arena. At least if she is already dead, he little eyes won't even have to glance upon the place that threatens to take her life. I don't know which is worse, dying trying to kill and survive with a one in twenty-four shot, or dying before you even see the place that could very well be you're grave. I know which I would choose.

The girl from Seven pulls a nine, matching three of the scores that the Careers received and outperforming the District Two girl. I rack my brain for any memories of her from training but none come up. How could I have missed her? This girl with the accusing eyes and the pointed glare? I make a mental note to ask Alpine about her when I get the chance. She is obviously dangerous, but exactly how deadly is she really?

Alpine gets a five, an average score for a non-Career. I am unsurprised by this score as it blends right into the mix of other tributes, just like my ally does. He is always in the background, not staying in one place too long and ensuring that no attention is paid to him. I understand his reasons though, who would want to stick out in a place where standing out will only put a greater price on your head?

I almost don't expect to see the little girl's face, but there it is, her blue eyes looking back to me hopelessly. The picture taken just before performing for the Gamemakers. I can only imagine the helplessness that the girl must have felt, what can you do when it has already been shown how easily you can die? My heart melts when a red two appears below her picture, the ironic color of dripping blood. Her district partner fates slightly better, earning two points more than his small partner with an average four.

The anticipation builds more and more as the scores near closer to my district. Did I do the right thing in going all out? Maybe I should have done like Alpine and strived for average. Oh well, it's much too late now.

* * *

**Olive Farah, 18, District Eleven**

I don't remember any of it. I know that sounds ludicrous but it's true. I remember coming to as I was walking into an elevator, watching as a man in a black suit pressed the shiny silver button marked with an eleven. I had asked him where I was going but he only glared at me through dark glasses, not even making an effort to answer my nervous question. But everything is told to me by my mentor when he asked me how my session went. The private session with the Gamemakers that would decide our training scores. The scores that would determine whether or not we would receive life-saving sponsors. The thing that I can remember nothing of.

The scores flash by me and I try to focus on them as well as I can. The high Career scores make my head spin, imagining a million ways that they may have received those numbers. Thinking of countless ways that they might have to kill me with the skills they so obviously possessed. If I have any sort of plan, it is to make sure that I stay as far away from that group as possible, at all costs.

But as the district numbers begin to increase, I feel my nausea begin to die down and my head nearly stops aching. These tributes are like me, unprepared and unready; not wanting whatever will be thrown at us in just a few days. There are kids smaller than me going to the same condemned place as me, what hope do they have? What hope do _I _have?

The District Nine scores begin with the girl, who earns a pretty five. Not a disappointing score for someone her age, but also not something to be overly proud of. It shows she has potential, if that means anything. The boy from her district earns a surprising seven, the second score that seems to have come out of nowhere. Him and the girl from Three, both of whom do not appear to be huge contenders, both earning scores that should be well out of their range.

The interesting girl from Ten receives a five, again an average score, and her partner pulls a six. The girl I had watched for plenty of time during training, something about her intrigued me and held my interest, though I am still unsure what. It is possible that it is just the expression on her face that appears so calm, yet so out there, all at once. Her partner I don't remember much, other than that I had caught him and his allies looking my way several times during training. Well, during the parts that I remember anyway.

My throat feels like it has become completely closed off as I wait for the District Ten boy's image to disappear. When my own face stares back at me I almost don't recognize it. The girl in the photo looks, well, Career like. She has the arrogant smirk, and the playful eyes, she has the comfortable posture and the perfect position. It's not me. But yet the eye and hair color are identical, as is the face proportions. It's me, but in a way I know it can't be.

A bright red seven appears below the girl's photo, and it only confirms my suspicions. That girl cannot possibly be me.

* * *

**Amaran Luminera, 18, District Twelve**

To my astonishment, the loner from Eleven comes out with a seven. I never paid her much attention in training but now I regret that decision. I am supposed to know who to look out for, but yet I missed out on noticing a girl who had enough skill to match Noeah's archery talent that obviously earned him the same score. I tap my fingers against my skull and Rivers stirs beside me, looking at me with concern in his pale eyes. I smile warmly and shake my head before returning my gaze back to the screen, just in time to see the number six appear below Eleven's district partner. Another contender I missed, another failure on my part to be as prepared as I vowed to be.

Soon enough my own picture is staring back at me from the brightly lit screen. I am surprised at how intense I look, my eyes are just narrowed enough to give the illusion of determination, my mouth just curled enough to give off an air of confidence. I don't know how I managed to pull off this look amidst all the mixed emotions I had been, and still was feeling. Especially with the worry about what had happened with Areyna. I don't think I will ever have a peaceful sleep after seeing the tiny girl with an arrow sticking out of her bleeding neck.

When her picture had shown up in the newscast a sigh of relief had rushed through my body. Those pictures were taken this morning which means she is alive. She looked incredibly shaken, and if possible even smaller and frailer than I remember seeing her in the Reaping recaps. It means that Miram hadn't killed her.

Miram.

That subject was conflicting for me. She had shot that arrow, she had been the one to nearly kill a twelve year old girl who also happened to be both of our allies. But she didn't seem like she had wanted to, she crashed to the floor as soon as Areyna had hit the ground. She had cried and shrieked in grief. I want to believe it was an accident, but I know her aim was getting better. The last time I had seen her practicing she was hitting the three rings around the bull's eye on almost every shot. I want to believe that she didn't do it, but it is plausible to think that she chose the shot. We are fighting to kill each other after all, is it naive to think that everyone would respect each other and hold hands around the campfire in the days leading up to a death match?

I hear a sharp intake of breath from beside me and when I look over I see tears brimming over Rivers' eyes. I look back to the screen and see a number three flashing in bright red beneath the smiling image of my little district partner. My eyes focus in on his innocent face, the freckles on his cheeks further sticking out due to the lighting, his slightly gapped front teeth shown off in his endless smile.

I hear a door slam from my right and when I look beside me, Rivers is nowhere to be found. I look up to Ridge who only shrugs and picks up his glass, chugging back the gold tinted liquid that is contained within it. I shoot him a cold glare and stand up, hurrying after my young partner.

"Where are you going?" Ridge stares at me from over top of his wine glass, which is being twirled in his hand like a top.

"I'm going to see if I can help," I reply shortly before turning around, facing away from the disgusting excuse of a person that is my mentor.

"Don't bother," he drawls before pouring the rest of the contents of the glass into his mouth. "Kid's got to learn sometime."

* * *

**The artist theme for this story will be **_**Three Days Grace.**_

**Song: **_**On My Own**_

* * *

**The blog for this story can be found on my profile. It has been updated with training scores. **

* * *

**You guys may have noticed that on this chapter and on the previous chapters, the voting system has been taken down and I have made some minor changes to the format of this story. This is because I wanted to make this story legal, so that it would not be taken down. Sorry to any of you who prefer my old format, but this is how my chapters will be set from now on.**

**Now instead of the voting system (like one of my favourite authors, JabberJayHeart, has also begun to do), I will ask a question or two for you to answer in your review. I would also love it if you would give me a general review on my writing as well, to help me improve.**

**_What do you think of the scores? Did any surprise you?_**

* * *

**Only one more chapter until the arena will be revealed! A few people have had good guesses at what it could be but I have so much more in mind that, really, only I would be twisted enough to think of :P**


	7. I Don't Belong

**Never Too Late by Three Days Grace**

_This world will never be  
What I expected  
And if I don't belong  
Who would have guessed it_

* * *

**Jax Cutrialy, 17, District One**

Xavier straightens the tie around my neck for what must be the hundredth time since he had first outfitted me in the grey suit. Blue makes up the second color of my suit, with the cuffs, the buttons, and of course the tie all being the same dark shade of the color. My hair is spiked slightly and held in place by a sticky gel that I was told not to touch or the effect would be lost. Really, I couldn't care less about whether or not my hair held shape or not. I just want to get on the stage and get right back off again, with as little difficulties as possible.

My mentor, Evander's words play over and over again through my head like a broken record. Reminding me of what angle I was expected to play up and how, precisely, I was supposed to act. This entire thing was no more than a performance; the people in the audience could probably not care less about what our lives were like before we came here. What they really wanted was exaggeration of the stories that they already had floating around their colorful little heads. That was the real purpose of choosing an angle, so that the sponsors could see that you fit into some kind of stereotype, so that they could sponsor you based on whether or not you fit with what they wanted to be known for sponsoring.

Smart sponsors would put money on the Careers, the ones with high scores, or some of the stronger looking outer district tributes. That girl from Seven would likely pull in some sponsors, yes I am sure of that. She won't go hungry, not like some of the younger or weaker tributes would.

As a Career I don't have to worry about food, I had not even bothered to learn any of the survival skills at training. I would never use it. Years of watching the Games has shown me that if a Career wants or needs something that all they had to do was ask. If after that they still didn't get any, they do something that would catch attention. Kill, torture, anything of that nature. Rewards were given for behaving correctly, and I plan to do just that. Maybe some other tributes would try and stage some sort of rebellion in their last dying moments, but not me. I was here, by the harsh voice that had pushed me to volunteer, and I was here to win.

* * *

**Maxon Slate, 17, District Two**

Vulcan and I walk out of our styling rooms at the same moment, almost managing to knock into each other before spotting the other in the dimmed hall. He pulls back at the last moment and we avoid collision, but just barely.

I laugh out loud at the sight of Vulcan in his grey pants and tie, with a bright red jacket over a white shirt. He looked absolutely ridiculous, and by the expression on his face he is none the wiser to the horrendous outfit. All the better for me, something else I have over him is common sense. Or at least common style sense.

"Nice dress," he chuckles and I narrow my eyes at him. My selected outfit was not nearly as terrible as his, but I still could use a major adjustment. The dress is the same color as Vulcan's jacket and is coated with sequins that reflect the light. My hair was combed back, so that my centre part was no longer visible, and secured with a red clip at the back of my head. My face is coated with various powders and gels that I never would have imagined would go one your face.

Vulcan holds out his arm and bows his head snidely, "after you."

I roll my eyes and push through his extended arm, leaving him in a trail of flowery perfumes that have radiated off of my body. I hear his heavy footsteps behind me as I walk down the hall, led by a red clothes man. The heels of my shoes click along the floor tiles and I touch one side of the wall in order to keep my balance in the impossibly tall shoes. We reach a thick, brass door and the Avox pulls it over and ushers Vulcan and I inside.

I want to shriek with laughter upon entering the long room. In front of me, nearly all the other tributes have already been lined up in district order with the female standing in front of the male. The tributes are all dressed up in bright colors and even brighter makeup, all of them clashing and none of them looking any less strange than the others. Still the smile remains on my face when the red of my dress catches my eye and I realize that I must look just as ridiculous as they do.

Vulcan nudges me, no doubt silently mentioning the smile that is plastered on my made-up face. One of his earliest rules was that we are all to intimidate the other tributes to the best of our abilities, if they are scared of us they won't come after us. That was his logic. The look in his eyes though strikes me, I had never noticed how dark his irises were or how intense they looked. The smile vanishes from my face and he strides forward, as close to an approval as I am bound to get.

The little boy from Twelve stands nearest to the door, playing with the cuffs of his green jacket nervously. For good measure I plow through him on my way to follow Vulcan, causing the kid to fly forward. He catches himself on the wall beside him but the alarm is clearly visible in his eyes.

I smirk and shove past Vulcan who has stopped to watch my little episode, nudging his shoulder on my way past him to the front of the lineup. He rolls his eyes and I catch his gaze, the evil glint now gone. I'll show him soon enough, intimidation is what I do best.

* * *

**Wyre Felix, 14, District Three**

My fingers fiddle with the hem of my dress, a brilliant blue number with silver accents all over it. The bottom is frilled and sticks out with all the fluffy fabric underneath the gown. My brown hair is curled around my face but even my stylist could do nothing to create volume at the back. The pieces that have managed to remain curled have done so through the use of an extensive array of gels, liquids, and sprays. I can still completely smell one of the less pleasant of the thick gels, which has been only half covered up by a strong flowery perfume.

My mentor had spoken with me a lot about the Interviews, as he probably knew I was going to struggle with it. I was always more of a wallflower than a socialite. I never knew what to say or when the appropriate time to say it would be. Not like these other tributes, by the way they conducted themselves onstage you would think they had been training with words and not weapons. Though they had probably had enough time in their short lives to have become masterful of both.

The angles that had been discussed with me earlier were evident, and, just as Tesla and Beetee had said, the Careers were much more flamboyant than they had been in training or at the Tribute Parade. The first tribute, the girl from One who I learned was named Callena, was feisty and snide. The audience laughed at her rude remarks about the other tributes and cheered her name when she winked into the audience, clearly capturing their support. Likely their money as well.

Her district partner way far more frightening, he did very little except stare into the audience. Even finding points to just look straight into the camera, sending shivers down my spine. It was painfully obvious that he was going for the intimidation angle, one that had never even been considered for me. But, I just can't decide where the angle ends and the tribute begins.

The District Two girl was sarcastic and witty, pulling in sponsors with her crude remarks. She is able to deflect the obvious loss respect that came with her rather low scoring. Even though she had scored two points above me I still felt somewhat better off than her. My score was surprising because I was never expected to do that well, whereas hers was viewed as a loss, only because she was a Career and she was supposed to be talented and bloodthirsty by definition. Now though, people would doubt her. But I never would, I had seen the way she looked at the rest of us, especially the younger tributes. Like we were a meal. And she was ready to bite our heads off.

I watch with dreary eyes as Vulcan, the District Two male, strides off stage. Throughout the entire interview he sat straight up in his seat, with his legs crossed comfortably. He sounded so organized, like all of this was just part of a pre-created plan that would ultimately result in his victory. Didn't he see that it really was anyone's game? Anyone could win this, and just having a plan and also having the skill to carry it out just wouldn't be enough. He would also need luck, sometimes that is all you need to win, dumb luck.

I feel a shove from behind me and I stumble up the stairs, lights blinding me as I walk out to the stage. My eyes are wide and I feel short of breath but I continue walking as steadily as possible. This may be the worse part of the pre-Games, but it was necessary. I don't want to die, and to stop that from happening I have to get sponsors. And to do that, I have to make people like me.

* * *

**Caddis Tamar, 18, District Four**

Faye blows one last elegant kiss to the crowds before she propels herself off stage, using her hips to guide her. She had done exactly what Aquil had told her and played the sexy, flirtatious angle. She made small remarks here and there in a whimsical voice, all while ensuring that the cameras had a good view down the front of her dazzling blue dress. When her eyes move from the bright lights to meet my own eyes, she scowls and shoves past me. Even she can tell, even she knows I am not like the others. I am just thankful that she hasn't told anyone yet, and the rest of them seem to be none the wiser.

I have the skills, I always have. But I had no desire to use them, and now I have to. It's not fair. The rest of the Careers chose to be here and are perfectly happy believing that they are going to win. Even though that is exactly what I am afraid of, winning. If I won I would be exactly like them. Acting like them is one thing, but if I became like them I don't know how I would ever look at myself again.

I blink away the white spots that the blinding lights send shooting into my eyes as I walk onstage. I don't show any more emotion than I have to as I sit beside the Interviewer, a green tinted Caesar Flickerman. His lips are pulled to the side unnaturally in a permanent grin and it is all I can do not to pull myself away from the odd man. But I only force my arms down on either side of the armchair and stare blankly into the audience.

With my size and quiet demeanor, it was an obvious choice of which angle I would play up. Intimidation. Sadly enough I wasn't the only one who had tried it so far, Jax who went second did a good job with the angle but came off as more eerie than physically frightening.

"Caddis Tamar! Great to have you here, how have you found the Capitol?" Caesar begins with an easy question, smiling creepily the entire time with his green, tainted lips.

"Fine."

Caesar doesn't even look the slightest bit taken aback, I guess he has gotten used to the strong, silent angle and he seems to know exactly how to help me out. He swivels around with his knees and looks me directly in the eyes, asking question after question until I think he will soon turn blue instead of green. I answer each question with one or two word responses, not giving the audience any sort of grasp of who I am, and why should I? I could very well die in a few days. Despite my training I am not arrogant, I know that not all trainees can win, how can they? When there are usually five others who have trained as well. I just don't want the last thing people remember about me to be a stupid lie concocted by my Mentor. I want the Capitol to forget me if I die, the only ones I want to be remembered by are my family and friends. They are the ones I really want to be known by, not these people who, really, if they looked inside themselves would not give a care.

* * *

**Miram Rivett, 15, District Five**

"And now let us welcome, Miram Rivett of District Five!"

I hear Caesar call my name and I practically jump up and down with excitement, soon all of Panem will see me. It's like I am going to be famous! My light green dress bobs around me as I bounce around, waiting as a man in a headset holds his arm out in front of me to stop me from running onstage. I feel a push from behind me and I move forward, only to be caught by the back of my collar.

"Don't say anything about Training, if you value your sanity," a cold whisper sends a numbing sensation down my spine and I don't even have the ability to confirm my understanding by nodding. Of course I know what he means, when I shot the arrow at Areyna. They're probably just trying to scare me, they think I wouldn't want to say anything anyway because I should feel guilty that my arrow was so off target that I managed to shoot my own ally.

But, they're just playing into what I knew they would.

I step onstage and the applause is almost deafening, but smile until my face begins to ache with the overuse. The lights are so bright that even while I squint, I can only see a slight change in color to indicate the two centre stage chairs and the Interviewer I recognize from the newscast in which our scores were announced. He grasps my hand and his skin is as cold as ice but I let him lead me to the chair. Once I sit down my head clears a bit and I am able to concentrate on the words that are being chanted by the citizens in the audience. My ears pick up many chants of my name, as well as a few for District Five, my smile grows and I think to myself, _so this is what it feels like to be famous. _

"Miram, how are you coping with everything in the Capitol?" Caesar begins and my mind feels so fuzzy that I have to search for the words that Avani had tried to drill into my head.

"Just great, Caesar!" I say in my most enthusiastic tone, bringing my hands to my cheeks to complete the illusion. "Everything here is so beautiful! How could I be anything less than perfect?"

"That is just, perfect, to hear Miram!" He laughs to the audience and then brings his focus back in on me. "Now let's get to the things everyone is really interested in, shall we?"

I nod and swallow quickly, what does he mean? Nobody knows about my little stunt at Training, whoever had whispered in my ear a few minutes ago had made that much clear. I rack my brain for an excuse to use, something that won't ruin my image to the Capitol. I'm supposed to be the friendly one, but this will change everything.

"How about your training score? A six for someone so small?"

The breath I had been holding blows out through my lips. They don't know, he means my score. Nobody knows.

I don't know whether to be relieved by this, or angered by it.

* * *

**Geare Petrol, 13, District Six**

Once the interviews have ended, Mayli and I finally make our way upstairs via the elevator. Even after we both had gone, neither of us had seemed to be in any hurry to leave. Leaving meant going to bed, sleeping on what could very well be the last night that we ever will see. I guess neither of us wanted to face that reality, because now we share an elevator with the girl and boy from District Twelve as well as the girl from Seven, who also had hung around after her interview had finished.

No one says a word and the tension is evident, especially in this tiny space with three black-suited guards fitted into the back. All of them carry deadly looking, long guns that are strung across their chests on straps. The girl from Seven doesn't move, only stares at something on the ceiling that I can't seem to find. When I look to the District Twelve girl a similar stoic yet tensed expression takes over her face, but beside her , her district partner who is just a bit bigger than I am is crying. His voice hiccups and it is the only sound that enters my ears besides the uneven breaths that come from my own lips.

We stop at our floor first and one of the black suits gets out with us, walking between us with his hands perched over the rifle as if he could be ready to use it at any moment. Which he probably could be. We enter the dining room and Mayli sits down next to Rush, who looks pained at her sweet smile. Maize looks up at me with glassy, distant eyes and I hesitate for only a moment before walking directly into my room and closing the door quietly behind me.

The lights turns on as I step further into the huge room, which feels so empty and hollow tonight. The past couple of days it was easy to get caught up in everything else, to forget about the real reason why I was here, but not tonight. It's impossible not to think of all the possibilities that tomorrow could bring.

Would tomorrow be the day that I die?

Would tomorrow be the day that I kill?

Would tomorrow change me?

I don't know, I just don't know.

I flop down on my head and bury my face into the soft, blue fabric of one of the many pillows. I can feel the tears beginning to come and I let them, alone in my room I let the water pool under my cheeks and I sob into the cushions that muffle my cries. I'm scared, I finally have come to terms with it all. I thought that I could be brave but now I realize that I can't. I'm just a kid, and very soon my life could be over. Before it has even really started.

* * *

**Kiera Maaz, 16, District Seven**

A knock on my door sends my eyelids whipping open, though I not truly been asleep. How we are expected to sleep when for many of us it will be our final night, I will never understand. All night I had searched through my mind for anything that could possibly help me today. Past arenas, the plant identities I had learned, any words my mentor had spoken since we got on the train at the Reaping. I hadn't cried though, tears would do me no good. I had to separate myself from this all, I couldn't let my emotions get in the way of anything that I would have to do to get home. That is why I wouldn't make allies, so that I wouldn't be able to put a name to a face, it would be easier to take a life when I didn't know whose child I was stealing away.

My door eases open and I see Cypress walk in, her hair askew and purplish bags under her dark eyes. She doesn't say a word but sits down on my bed near me; she reaches her hand out as if to touch me but quickly recoils it, thinking better of the action. When I can't bring myself to look at her any longer I break our gaze and stare down at the green blankets that are thrown around the bed. This could be the last time I ever see a bed, this could have been the last time I will ever sleep.

"Kiera, it's time to go," Cypress whispers and gets up, propelling herself towards the door. She stops in the doorway and looks back at me, her face now completely blank and the bags under her eyes even more visible. I stand slowly and walk towards her as calmly as I can, even though I can feel my body shaking with every movement. My legs threaten to give way and thankfully when I reach her, Cypress reaches out and holds my shoulder. She leads me through the now familiar apartment and we stop in front of the elevator. If I didn't know any better, I would think we were just going down for another day of Training, or to get ready for another public appearance. But I do know better, I'm going someplace much, much worse.

We step inside the elevator and Cypress pushes a button labeled with an uppercase "L". I have never noticed this button, a long rectangle that stretches over the "10", "11" and "12". I feel the elevator move upwards and my stomach feels weak as we ascend further. Cypress grabs hold of my other shoulder and moves her face closer to mine, making me feel even more claustrophobic in the elevator that feels like it has shrunk significantly.

"Remember, you can do this."

I nod almost imperceptivity and the doors open in front of us, the wind that soars in chills me through my clothing. I am unable to move, but a light shove from behind me sends my body flailing out of the elevator, where I land on my hands and knees on the ground. I look up to see one of the black-suited guards standing above me, sunglasses covering his eyes and his lips pressed into a tight line. From in front of me I hear a child's shriek and when I look past the heavy pant leg of the guard I see a small boy with brown hair being pulled towards a large hovercraft. The boy's face is streaked with tears that seem to be coming in a never-ending flow. His screams shake my body and they continue until the boy disappears inside the hovercraft where his cries are cut off.

I am pulled to my feet and the guard begins to drag me towards the same hovercraft that the young boy had been put into. My body feels too numb to resist the movement and I let myself be lead up the ramp of the hovercraft. Once inside I let them strap me in next to the boy with tears down his face that I remember as being from District Twelve. He looks up at me with full eyelids and the look in his eyes is screaming for help, but as the cuffs lock across my arms and legs I realize I am just as helpless as he is.

* * *

**Areyna Kyte, 12, District Eight**

As the hovercraft fills up with tributes, all entering one at a time, I feel my heart rate sky rocket and my limbs shake noticeably. I sit with one of my arms against a wall and the other just a few inches away from the boy from Four. He is huge and his very presence makes my blood run cold, but he doesn't look at me or even acknowledge that I am right here beside him, and for that I am thankful. I don't want any of them to see me, I don't know their names and I can only remember them from the television back in Eight. They seem so much more real here though, and the tension is visible even in the expressions of the Careers like the boys from One and Two who are also in my hovercraft. They just stare straight ahead with blank stares.

The last seat is filled by a small girl with long, brown hair who sits down quietly and allows herself to be strapped in without a word. Her face is scrunched up and she looks like at any minute she might try and make a break for it, but she doesn't. She is brave, I just wish that I could look that brave.

Tears run silently down my face as a trio of people with light skin and dark blue tunics file into the hovercraft just before the door closes. One woman with narrow green eyes approaches me with a long tube. She releases the grip from one of my arms and pushes the tube into the skin. My mouth opens but no sound escapes my lips. The woman smiles at me, a warm smile that tells me I have been brave fro not screaming out.

But I'm not brave. I want to scream, but I can't.

They arrived at my door just days after they had taken Areyna, a large group of white suited men with guns pointed at Mama and Daddu. Ronan told me to hide in the closest but I couldn't, I heard them talking to Mama but the words didn't quite reach my ears. She dropped to her knees as Daddy stood paralyzed at her side, Ronan ran in and tried to hold her up but they shot him. It was a horrible sound, gunshot ringing in my ears until I couldn't help myself and I screamed. The white men heard me and ran into the hallway where I stood, shrieks still echoing off of the wooden walls. They brought me here, but first they took my voice. I guess they were scared I would tell people, scared that I would do something that would result in Rebellion.

But I wouldn't have thought to do that, I was too scared. I was going into the Hunger Games as a replacement for my sister who died, and I was only ten years old.

I want to climb up to the peak of the highest building in the Capitol and scream of the injustice that has plagued me, but I can't even sob or cry. The Capitol won't just take my life away, they'll take my voice away too.

* * *

**Noeah Hazurn, 17, District Nine**

The windows darken and I know that we are nearing the arena, they won't let us see it until sixty seconds before the Games begin, lest the surprise be ruined. I try and make myself comfortable in the straight-backed, rough chair but the grips that hold my arms and legs prevent very much movement. Beside me, the girl from District Eleven stares straight ahead of her, light eyes open wide in fright. She looks older than me, but still I feel the desire to reach out and hold her hand. She seems so much like a young child, scared and helpless. But, I guess that's what we all are right now? Scared and helpless. None of us truly knowing what we are getting ourselves into.

A sinking feeling begins in the pit of my stomach and I come to the conclusion that we must be landing. My hands grip the sides of my chair, nails digging into the tough fabric so hard that one of them breaks. Though the small pain barely even registers in me, what is a small cut or a broken nail when I am going to be fighting for my life, probably in less than two hours.

The sound of the engines halts and the only sound audible for a good minute is the raspy breaths around me. Two Peacekeepers enter the hovercraft as the door opens and I dig my nails even further into the chair as they pass by me. They grab District Eleven and escort her out of the vehicle, while his partner takes the boy from Three. After a couple minutes the pair return and one of them presses a button beside my head. A fraction of a second later, the grips on my arms and legs release me and the large man hoists me to my feet and presses his palm into the small of my back. He pushes me in front of him as we exit the hovercraft, the little boy from Six following me off with a Peacekeeper dragging him by his wrist as he shakes his head and mutters words between sobs. His face is dripping with tears and my heart aches for the young boy, but I can`t even so much as utter a soothing word to him before I am shoved harshly down a brightly lit hallway, now in the care of two different Peacekeepers.

We pass by many doors, each labelled with a district number and them either an "M" or an "F". Behind me I hear sobs as the Six boy is escorted down the same hallway, followed by a sharp cry and a door slam as the Peacekeepers lock him into his assigned room. I gulp loudly as we pass one of the rooms and I hear screaming come from the inside. Shivers run down my spine as the cries start to fade when the room grows further and further away.

Without warning, a door is opened by the Peacekeeper in front of me and the one behind me sends me inside with just a light push. The door is shut tightly behind me but I grasp the handle hopelessly, turning it as far as it will go and pulling on it with all my might. I have no idea why I want to go back into that hallway, with the chilling screams and the desperate cries, but I think I just want to escape this place. This place that holds the tube that will launch me to my death.

* * *

**Enya Hale, 15, District Ten**

I stare in the mirror that makes up most of the wall in the Slaughterhouse. That is what we call the Launch room back in District Ten, because it is like the place where we keep pigs before slaughtering them. The tributes are being kept in this place before they are sent out to die. _I _am being kept here until the rest of Panem is ready to watch my death.

The outfit was given to me by my stylist, Rosalie, who is the same lady who prepped me for the Tribute Parade and for my Interview. She stands in the corner of the room with her back turned to me, remembering that I hate to be watched when I change. She wasn't at all like the scary people that some of the kids in my level would tell stories about. Rosalie has shown me kindness and respect, more than I have ever seen in my life. And the truth is, I'm glad I was reaped and I don't want to leave.

"I'm done," I say to Rosalie but my voice comes out in no more than a whisper. She turns around carefully and makes her way over to me with a passive smile on her rose colored face.

She feels the fabric of the long white shirt that covers me from my neck to my knees. The fabric is a spotless white color and the baggy, flimsy feeling pants are made of the same type of canvas. The pants feel big around my hips and legs but close in at my ankles with an elastic band that sits under the fabric. My shoes are white as well and have flat soles, the shoelaces are also white. A thick, canvas headband sits in my hair that is left down and natural. Unlike most days in the Capitol, my face is free of makeup and my skin feels like it can actually breath, despite the damp, closed-in feeling of the room.

The only parts of my outfit that are not white are the cuffs of the button down, long sleeve shirt, and the piece of fabric that hangs loosely around my neck like a scarf. Both are a brown color that is similar to dirt and reminds me of District ten in which most land plots were this color. My hand fiddles with the cuffs as I remember playing with my friends in the mud piles after it rained, telling them stories in the fields where we would sit. Bothered by no one but the winds that blew around in the weeds.

"The shoes aren't good for running," Rosalie says as she examines the bottom of my shoes, "but the fabric is rather warm so expect it to be cold at some point."

I nod but none of her words make it to my memory. The only thing I can think of is the realization that I have just come to. In a few minutes I will be in the arena, and I don't have any idea of how I am going to survive.

* * *

**Cain Frost, 17, District Eleven**

_Maybe the arena will be a desert this year._

I run through idea after idea in my head but I have no way of knowing if any of my thoughts are right. I wish that I could just know what I was going into, have at least a couple minutes to think it over and come up with a plan. But even that luxury is not allowed for me. I am going into the arena pretty much blind to whatever could be in there. Not even the outfit I have been given does much to at least point me in the right direction of what the terrain I will be fighting on could be.

Favian tells me that the shoes I have been given have very little grip, so a forest or rocky landscape is not very likely. He also told me that he thinks the arena might be indoors this year, as most outdoor arenas will at least provide a jacket or sweater of sorts for the tributes. The white is what has stumped me as well as him, he has never seen a building that contains so much white, or where such an amount of white could be found. In District Eleven the only white you will ever see is in the clouds in the sky, everything else is covered in a thick layer of dirt and grime that leaves it with a yellowed appearance.

My hands find the orange tassels that hang around my neck. Favian takes them from my grasp and ties them in a single knot so that two ends of the fabric hang down the front of the white shirt. The room's temperature makes sweat drip down my face, and I am unsure whether to blame the heat on the outfit or on the nerves. Favian continues to tug at the cuffs of my sleeves, straightening and tightening them for what feels like far too long. I yank away my hand and he takes a step back from me, a hurt look coming across his pale face and the green of his eyes dimming slightly.

"I can only do so much, Cain," he mutters. "I'm here to help you."

I turn my head away from him and stare at the full bowl of soup that sits in front of me. I have no desire to eat, even though I know it will do me good. I move the spoon around in the bowl and listen to the empty clatter as it hits the porcelain sides. Before long the scent grows sickening to me and I push the bowl away from me, watching as drops of the red soup coat the table like fresh blood.

"Thirty seconds," a mechanical voice breaks the tension of the room and I rise to my feet to face the plastic tube in the far corner of the room. My feet move obligingly towards it and I can't help but feel like a soldier marching off to war. A war that I never wanted to be a part of in the first place.

* * *

**Rivers Bishop, 14, District Twelve**

I have realized the truth about these Games. That they are not really Games in the slight bit. They are just there as a way of punishing the children of the Rebels, most of who were killed in the Dark Days and so not have living children. They do it to strike fear into our hearts and ensure that we will never be brave enough to stand up to them. They don't want us to feel strong; they want us to be weak. So weak that we will bend to their needs and never question them. But, I do question them, I consider everything they have done to us, everything from as far back as I can stretch my memory. None of it is good.

It happened on the night that our scores were broadcasted, when that three flashed under my name it all made sense. They didn't care that I was young, they didn't care that I had done nothing in my life to ever deserve something like this. They knew I was going to die, and yet they do nothing to stop it. On the contrary, they encourage it. As long as their point is proven, they don't care who suffers. As long as everything works out for them, they don't care that I am going to die.

"Twenty seconds."

My stylist looms over me and holds out a bony hand that I take cautiously. She hoists me to my feet and drags me over to the plastic tube, releasing my hand once we are standing in front of it and giving me a light push in the right direction. The tears begin to flow again and once again I don't stop them, let the cameras see it. Let them realize what they are doing to the tributes, what they are doing to _me. _I tighten my hands into tiny fists and take the final step into the giant tube.

As soon as both my feet have touched the platform, the plastic closes around me. It cuts off all sound except the muffled sobs that I know are coming from my own lips. I can feel my heartbeat pounding in my head and my legs feel like gelatin. When the tube begins to rise, the sinking feeling from the hovercraft returns to my stomach and I fear that I will throw up. But I hold it together as the tube ascends into darkness and I leave the phony, smiling face of my stylist behind in the Launch room. My breaths turn short and I have to struggle not to pass out as the air feels as though it is thickening.

The dim lights that hit my eyes feel like blinding spotlights, and a faint, musty odour overwhelms my nose. It takes a few seconds before my eyes are able to pick up anything in the new lights, but as I blink away the grey spots from my vision the arena comes into view. My eyes wander over the room but freeze on a glowing, blue light that blinks on the farthest wall behind the Cornucopia. The timer counting down to zero.

* * *

**The artist theme for this story will be **_**Three Days Grace.**_

**Song: **_**Never Too Late**_

* * *

**The blog for this story can be found on my profile.**

* * *

**You guys may have noticed that on this chapter and on the previous chapters, the voting system has been taken down and I have made some minor changes to the format of this story. Now a question or two will be asked at the end of each chapter which I would love for you to answer, and I also ask for a general review on my writing as well.**

**_We have now arrived in the arena, any guesses at what it might be based on the outfits or Rivers' reaction?_**

**_Who do you think will be the Bloodbaths? Who do you think will kill?_**

* * *

**We are now in the arena! The next chapter will be the Bloodbath! I hope that the wait wasn't too long for this chapter, interviews honestly kill me and I am just happy to have them done and over with. I just wanted to thank everyone who has submitted to this story, as I know that I will likely lose a few of you once the tributes start dying off. It has been a pleasure to write for them and it will be so amazing to finally get into the Games! After a long wait the arena is about to be revealed! Good luck to the tributes, they're going to need it!**


	8. Survive This Somehow

**Life Starts Now**

_But you will survive this  
Somehow because  
Life starts now_

* * *

**Enya Hale, 15, District Ten**

The room we are in is long and rectangular, the tone is grim and dark, with only a few swinging light bulbs to show us the dimmed room. The red color of the room is tainted with the darkness and the tiled floor looks cold and grey. The tributes are arranged on all sides of the wall, roughly three metres away from both the tributes beside them. My plate sits in one of the five corners of the room, and the wall behind me is just out of reach of my fingertips.

Two large murals take up each wall, with a heavy wooden door to separate them. The Cornucopia lies in the furthest point of the room, in what I assume to be the tip of the oddly shaped room, at least twenty metres from the edge of my plate. A thick, white rug is set in the middle of the room, just in front of the silver Cornucopia. A pure colored rug that will be soiled with deep red blood in less than a minute.

Between each of the tributes is either a door or a wooden pedestal with a glass top. They are at least as tall as my chest and I am unable to see what, if anything, is contained under the glass casing. I stare past the nearest pedestal to the tribute on my right, Maxon from District Two. The look on her face is one of bewildered excitement, the glowing white of her eyes seeming almost demonic in a sense. It made sense, she knew why she was here, she wanted to be here. She has a plan, but even now I don't know what I'm doing.

I scan the room for a glimpse of Toriton, the one that is the most likely to have a plan. He and Mayli had been talking during Training, never telling Geare of I what they were discussing. They must have a plan, they have to. I finally spot him on the other side of the room, standing in front of a large painting of a soldier standing at attention. Blood is dripping down into his eye but her remains stoic and obedient, his hand pressed forever into his forehead. The message is clear, in here we are soldiers of the Capitol. Dying, wounded, tainted soldiers, but soldiers all the same. Soldiers don't misbehave, they don't disobey, they don't commend _rebellion. _

Toriton looks around with tears in his eyes and more wetness dripping down his face. I don't understand, he never looked to be emotional during training. Out of our alliance I would have pegged Mayli or Geare to be the ones to break down first, but I now look into the saddened eyes of our self-proclaimed leader and he doesn't look the same. My eyes find Mayli who stands three plates to Toriton's right, her eyes are locked on something on the ceiling and she blinks rapidly. Neither of the strong ones in my alliance are stable. They don't have a plan, and if they do I'm not part of it. I'm left out again, by myself, all alone. I crane my neck and spot Geare between the boys from One and Eleven, his lips are formed into a thin line and his eyes look worried, but he keeps it together. We lock eyes for just a moment and I give him a look to tell him that I have no plan. He looks around quickly and nods toward a door that sits halfway between us. I nod and we break gaze as something on the ground catches my eye.

It's a backpack, a rather small one but a backpack all the same. Judging by its position away from the Cornucopia and being only about three metres in front of me, I would say that it either contains food or survival equipment. I have to get to that first. Mayli and Toriton don't have a plan, I don't know if they are going to leave Geare and I but I know one thing for sure. I don't want to be without supplies, if Geare and I are on our own, we need to take what we can get, even if it could mean my death.

Everything in this place could cause my death, if it's going to happen fast, oh well. Better than slowly starving to death, definitely.

The beats of the clock begin to become audible and my eyes peel away from the backpack in front of me to the countdown timer. Fifteen seconds left. I position my feet to run as I watch the numbers go down to ten, and then down to five. I witness movement near the Cornucopia and when my eyes move down to the silver statue I watch as a small hole form in the floor. The knot already present in my stomach grows when I see a long metal shaft shoot of the hole. Three seconds left. A thin silver stick shoots out the top of the shaft and I hear several screams and cries before my eyes can even follow the path of the stick.

It's the girl from Eight, the one that almost got killed in training. Her feet dangle three feet off the ground, the metal rod pinning her to the wall through her chest. Unimaginable amounts of blood runs down the wall behind her and down her clothing. She pulls and tugs at the metal in her chest and the panic in her eyes is almost as visible as the blood pooling below her on the grey tiles. Her mouth opens in a scream but no sound comes out, though her voice could surely have been covered by the screams of the girl beside her, Amaran from Twelve, who reaches out for her little ally. She falls to her knees on her plates with anguished cries and the boy from the little girls' district joins her in her pained screams. The gong sounds but we all stay locked in this stance for at least another three seconds before the Careers begin running, starting with the leader, the boy from Two. Everyone else scrambles to make up for lost time, falling off their heightened plates and stumbling for a few feet in the girl's draining blood. I see Mayli fall to her knees and when she gets up, her outfit is tainted with the bright blood. She looks around with a horrified look before taking off for the Cornucopia behind the other tributes.

Against my better judgement, I do too.

* * *

**Maxon Slate, 17, District Two**

The only person that reaches the Cornucopia ahead of me is Vulcan, who immediately searches around the piles of supplies. I move the stuff around in the boxes but come up with nothing, and the other tributes were coming fast. The boy from Twelve reaches for a large backpack just a few feet away from me and I run over to him and grab him by the black ties of his shirt. With all my might I throw him into the mess of supplies inside the Cornucopia. I watch him land with his legs twisted at odd angles and hear a large crash as boxes and backpacks fall around him.

I frantically search around for a weapon but still nothing is to be spotted. Out of the corner of my eye I see Faye rushing to approach the Twelve boy who now lies unconscious with dark bruises already visible on his cheeks and neck. Faye's right hand is covered in blood and in it she clutches a short dagger. She's going to kill him. I'm the one that deserves this kill, he was just lying there completely vulnerable because of me. I run forward and grab the boy by his lulling head, I throw it directly at the metal of the Cornucopia but still he makes no movement. Again and again I slam his head against the hard surface until I am content with the blood pooling under the skin around his skull. A definite symptom of internal bleeding. He's surely dead. My kill, the first one of the Games as far as I can tell.

A smile comes to my face when I see Faye standing, her eyes concentrating on me in a hate filled stare. Finally she breaks the stare and grabs the nearest tribute to her, the one from District Six who already has blood coating her knees and mixing with the silver if her shirt cuffs to make a shimmering crimson. The girl shrieks in surprise and Faye kicks her legs out from under her, sending the girl sprawling onto the floor. The girl stutters unrecognizable words and Faye is on her within seconds, her dagger plunging into the flesh of her chest and stomach and then leaving the skin with ragged lines before being forced back in. Blood leaks out of every mark on the girl's body and after a few marks she stops moving.

The girl's district partner, the small boy I remember from the Interviews, stops just a few feet before his partner and Faye, his mouth stunned open and eyes wide as saucers. Faye stands up from on top of the girl's torn, bloody body and turns with cold eyes towards the boy. Immediately he stumbles backward, falling but jumping up instantly. He disappears from the room just behind the girl from Ten whose face is already strewn with tearstains. Faye doesn't bother chasing after them, turning to smirk once more at me before running around to the other side of the Cornucopia. I remain in place for a second longer, knowing full well what that grin had meant.

We're even.

But not for long.

* * *

**Caddis Tamar, 18, District Four**

I creep around to the front of the Cornucopia with my spear posed in front of me, as of now no one has dared to challenge me. As long as they don't try and pick a fight with me I won't hurt any of them, I don't want to kill, but if someone tries to kill me I will have no choice. The room we are in is rather big, and most tributes are still fighting. The girl from Six lies motionless on the ground only metres from my feet but I try not to look at her or the boy from Twelve who lies sideways on the tiled floor, blood pooling under the skin of his skull. I made the mistake of looking at him twice already, and both times his cold eyes seemed to stare up at me with accusation. I wanted to scream at him, to tell him that I didn't kill him. But I saw him die. I saw Maxon slam his head against the metal sides of the Cornucopia until his skull became caved in from her efforts. I didn't help him, but how could I have? I'm a Career, and I am supposed to be okay with death.

But I'm not.

The fighting continues around me, I see the girl from Seven swipe at the little one from Three, her fist soaring over the small girl's head as she ducks. The girl's eyes grow wide and she bolts to the other side of the room until she disappears from my view and I am forced to look back to the Seven girl. She lifts the small, wooden box that she managed to carry away from the Cornucopia and slams it down on one of the many pedestals that sit between the risen plates. The sound of glass shattering is lost among the battle cries and, from somewhere in the room, sobbing, and I see many pieces catch Seven's body and bring forth red to her white outfit. She flinches in pain but wastes no time in slipping whatever was contained behind the glass into the small box.

I slip and nearly fall with the next step I take, puddles of blood appearing under my flat-soled shoes. The girl from Six's eyes are half closed and staring across the room in the direction of the little girl who is hung up like a picture on the wall. Her struggles have long since stopped and her strawberry blonde head lulls to the side, innocent blue eyes watching over the room as the fighting continues. I tear my eyes away from the horrible scene and stepping between crates and bags to get to the other side of the Cornucopia. Once I reach the mouth, I take a step to look at the adjacent wall and come face to face with the wild eyes of the girl from Eleven.

I had never thought her a murderous girl, though her seven in training had clearly suggested otherwise. But now her eyes wide and haunting, I know that she could kill me. In her bloody hand she clutches a thin knife, not much of one but enough to kill me should it sink into my heart. She takes a lunge at me with the knife poised to attack, and I dodge the assault quite easily, flinging her knifed hand away with the handle of my spear. I turn quickly, my spear ready to prevent another lunge, but the girl just stares at me and shakes her head. The look is one of confusion, but the eyes are still the same and as soon as I lower my thin shield she rushes forward again. I slap her hand away just as it is about to cut into my neck, and the blade goes flying. A burning sensation comes to my face and when I reach up and touch my cheek my fingertips come away bloody. I feel the warm liquid run down my face but all I can do is stare at the now weaponless girl who looks at me with well contained fear.

I won't hurt someone, especially not someone unarmed. I lower my spear and she continues to stare at it as if it had been protruding from her own flesh, with disgust as well as fear. I stare down at my own spear, knowing that if the girl doesn't run soon that I will have to kill her. I can't risk exposing myself as a fraud, even if it means going against everything I believe in.

Suddenly something grabs the girl from behind and within a half a second she is on the ground with a bloody line across her throat. Vulcan steps out from behind the Cornucopia, kicking away Eleven's writhing body and coming to a standstill in front of me. The look in his eyes is enough to give away what he was thinking, I was a disgrace. I lower my gaze and bring my shoulders in closer to the centre of my body. The guilt sinks into me deeply, and I find myself wishing I had just gotten over myself and killed her. That's what we were supposed to do after all.

Vulcan looks at me for a moment longer before breaking our gaze and jogging back into the centre of the action. While I just stand there wallowing in my failure, and realizing how much i still have to prove. Not just to the others but to myself. I have to prove to them that I can be a killer, and prove to myself that i'm not like the rest of my alliance.

* * *

**Alpine Deerden, 17, District Seven**

The dimness of the hallway conceals me enough so that when I peek around from one of the far doorways, I am virtually unseen. So long as I hide the white of my outfit, that takes in light like a beacon. At least I don't have the white headband that all the girls seem to be sporting, and my dark hair camouflages me well into the dim atmosphere.

Dove, Cain, and I had all decided that we would go into the Bloodbath if we wanted to. Nothing in our alliance was particularly organized and I almost thought us more functional than the other alliances because of this. There was no common leader to over throw, or anyone that had the last say. If we disagreed on anything it would come to a vote, it was that simple. From the moment I realized what the arena was, I had known that it wouldn't do me any good to rush into the action, in fact it would hurt me much more than help me. Instead I looked to the intricate pedestals that sat between the plates with glass screens strung across them. They had to be important to have been placed there, for the most part starting rooms were relatively empty besides the Cornucopia and supplies that would be carried away or used soon enough. And so I had jogged over to the one closest to me after the other tributes had already sprinted off their plates to grab supplies. It had scared me how eager they had all been, even the young ones, to get into the bloody action, knowing full well that their death was fairly likely. I couldn't outrun them and I knew it. I had my mind instead, to think of solutions that my body can handle.

It had hurt a lot, to break the glass with my fist no matter how thin the plate had actually been. The covering had shattered into millions of tiny fragments and most of my hand and parts of my lower arm were cut up and bloody from the stray shards that flew into the air upon impact. It hurt to move any part of that arm but it had been worth it, for concealed inside the pedestal had been a set of knives, three in total, all tucked away in a holding belt. Immediately I had grabbed it and made for the door, careful not to run into any other tributes, though most of them were either involved in the action going on many metres away at the Cornucopia or were already dead. Three bodies were already lying on the ground, all unmoving and being stepped on and over carelessly as tributes started to shy away from the main battle and collect some meager supplies from the outskirts of the Cornucopia. Many small battles still raged on though, but I saw no major injuries inflicted or gained. Only nicks and scratches, as well as punches and kicks from the tributes who had not yet discovered the weapons in the pedestals or hidden away in the boxes in the mouth.

The girl from two was one of those fighting without weapons, I see Dove run past her with a small wooden box and she punches him square in the shoulder. He staggers a bit and falls several metres away from her, enough room in which to run but instead he seems unable to get up, tossing the box at her which she easily dodges. The girl lunges for him and kicks him hard in the groin, causing him to recoil in on himself, protecting the sensitive area from further harm. I have to look away as her blows rain down on him, even as he feebly tries blocking them with his hands. I consider rushing in there, Dove is my ally, I should be helping him. I know this but yet I am unable to make my feet move. I'm a horrible person, not helping my ally when he needs me, but I won't do any better against the strong Career than he can. What good is it if both of us die? None, absolutely none. Even with this knowledge, that what I am doing is logical, I feel the guilt knotting in my stomach.

Two lands a hard blow to Dove's jaw and takes a step back to grin devilishly at him, giving another tribute just long enough to knock her over from behind and pick Dove off the ground. Cain. I recognize him almost immediately when his face turns towards me. I step out of the dimness just enough so that when I wave my arms around Cain spots me and nudges Dove in my direction harshly. Cain comes barreling towards me and I have just enough room to move out of the way of him and Dove before they dash past me, forcing me to follow as best I can.

"Guys, stop, wait," I say between forced breaths and Cain stops them both and turns to face me. I am at least fifteen feet behind them and breathing hard, I can't run that much. I can't. They wait for me to catch up before taking off at a slightly less frantic pace down a long, narrow hallway. Cain stops suddenly when he turns down a hallway and scrambles back to where Dove and I stand, his eyes wide and panicked. I slide past him and peer around the wall to see the little girl from Nine sitting down with her legs tucked up against her chest, crying softly into her knees. I scramble back and glance at Dove and Cain, before turning back to the girl as slowly and quietly as I can so as not to startle her. But, when the adjacent hallway comes into view, instead of just the shaking child I see a taller girl standing in the narrow room, blocking my view of the smaller girl. I can't peel my eyes of the girl and she begins to move in the opposite direction of us.

Nine still sits in the same place she had been in when I first noticed her, but now her head is lulled back against the wall. Dark red liquid runs down her face in streams and coats the left side of her face, a wound not even visible behind the curtain of blood. The one eye that I can see is squinted and her body is completely still. The other girl turns for just a moment and we lock eyes, but she quickly breaks the stare and begins to jog quietly down the hallway. Kiera, the only tribute in these Games that I think could be even more dangerous than the Careers.

* * *

**Amaran Luminera, 18, District Twelve**

I pull hard on the bag that is clutched so tightly in my hands, the boy from Three holding to the other strap like a lifeline. His eyes are wide and frantic and even as we stand in place, shoving at each other to try and gain an advantage over the other, so that we might get away with this prize. Most of the bags were located in the mouth of the Cornucopia, or at least the ones that seemed to hold anything of value were. I couldn't bring myself to run into the action as I had planned, not after seeing firsthand how easy it would be to die. The Games hadn't even begun before Areyna was taking her last breath and having the blood drain down her back and onto the already crimson wall behind her. Rivers had been dead within the first few minutes and the girl from Six was close behind.

_At least they died fast, _I thought to myself, _they don't have to see the rest of this hell._

But it's not fair and I know this, while I stand here fighting over a bag, two little _children _lay dead around me, two other girls who are close to my age lay with them. It's all wrong, but I heave and pull for the backpack anyway, because I don't want to end up like them. I don't want to die. Not like them. Not so soon.

A female scream rises above the others and the boy earns the backpack when I let go suddenly and he goes flying into the wall behind him, scrambling up with his prize and dashing to the other side of the room. But even he stops, the whole room stops, when another shout bursts through our eardrums, louder, oh so much louder, than any of the other battle cries and childish sobs. I look just in time to see the hands of Vulcan from Two dropping the girl from Ten to the ground, who scrambles away with eyes as wide as plates. The Career's hand is pressed to his throat and his face is twisted in pain, he tries to scream again but this time it is a pained, gurgling sound. He falls to his knees and presses his other hand to his neck, and it is only then that I see the thick red pouring out through his fingers. Vulcan drops to his side and his grip loosens on his throat, freely exposing the deep hole from which blood pours. His face is still contorted when his body goes limp, and his eyes seem to stare at the bloodied arrow that lay mockingly in front of him.

When I can tear my eyes away from the dead Career leader, I notice Noeah standing across the room in one of the furthest doorways. In his arms a silver bow is poised and his face is just as much a mask of surprise as the other faces still residing in this room. Though he is the first to recover, noticing the other Career's eyes staring him down from across the way. He turns tail and runs into the hallway with frightening speed.

I know that if I don't go now, I might lose him and he has just proved both a helpful ally and a dangerous enemy. I grab Sedo by the collar of his shirt and begin dragging him until he is able to run upright again. We both dash out of the room through the same door in which Noeah left and see his figure turn a corner just as we exit the door. I urge Sedo to run faster and silently hope that Noeah will stop. _We need you, _I think to him, _please stop. _

Almost as if he had heard my silent plea, when we turn the next corner we see hi pressed up against a wall between a pair of red-framed pictures. Sedo and I rush over to him and Sedo puts a comforting hand on his frightened ally's shoulder. I just stand there staring at him until he finally speaks.

"I'm a killer," he stutters and his eyes stare at something in the distance. "I only just got here and I'm already a killer."

"That's what we are supposed to do, Noeah," I whisper. "That's what we're here for."

"But I told myself I wouldn't," he says with the same faraway stare. "I promised myself I wouldn't."

"Then why did you?" I say, wondering the reason for his change of heart. The Career was nowhere near him, he could have gotten away unscathed and without blood on his hands. It just doesn't seem like Noeah to kill out of cold blood, there must have been something that made him do it.

"I couldn't let him hurt her," he whimpers, suddenly seeming much smaller than his age suggests, and far more vulnerable. "I've never talked to her, I don't even know her name, but I just couldn't let him kill her."

* * *

**Fuze Lypton, 16, District Three**

Even after the group of three left the room, no one dared move. Being out of the Career's immediate reach I had silently taken a few steps towards the back door, but I couldn't make myself actually leave. Their leader is dead, what will happen to them? Would they go on a rampage to avenge their fallen ally? It had never happened in any of the Hunger Games I had ever watched, immunity from the Bloodbath was one of the few perks of being the Career leader, no one would dare to challenge you in that position.

But it had happened and the even the other Careers knew not what to do. It was relatively common for a weak Career to die in the Bloodbath, but he was not a weak Career. They just stood there with their eyes on their dead leader. Until finally someone moved.

It was the boy from Five, he ran with his legs pumping as fast as he could possibly go. Within seconds he was out of the room and I could hear his footsteps growing quieter as he ran through whatever was outside these doors. The Careers hadn't even looked up.

This was my chance, maybe my only chance. I spotted Wyre peeking out from the side of the Cornucopia, her eyes wide and panicked much like those of the girl from Eight when the spear had shot through her abdomen before the start of the Games. I take all the strength I can find and dash to the other side of the room to her, dragging her behind me as I made for the nearest door. She didn't make much of the fact that I was dragging her, but didn't resist as we made it through the door and into a long, narrow hallway. No one else is within my range of sight, but even so I keep running. I don't want anyone to find us, not now when I am so close to saving us. Wyre doesn't respond anymore than she had when we were in the Cornucopia, not saying a word and barely even breathing. The only thing to tell me that she is alive is that her feet are still moving as I pull her through the hallway.

All the hallways that we turn down are the same dull crimson color as the Cornucopia room, with several golden picture frames lining the straight walls. A few of the frames are red as well, but none of those have pictures in them, only a black sheet of paper behind an empty, blood red frame. The other ones had pictures in them, some had people and others didn't. But they were all eerie and foreboding, none of them giving me any comfort at all in the horrible place that had become my new home. Light bulbs hung from the ceiling, which was made up of tubes and rafters, and the floors are lined with perfect white rugs. We turn a corner and I already see a bloodstain on the side of the wall at about knee level. Immediately I turn Wyre around and attempt to steer her away from the hallway, away from the blood that seems to already have tainted her. She doesn't let me turn her though, and her stare doesn't break from the blood drippings that stain the wall.

"Wyre we have to go now, "I tell her shortly, grabbing her shoulder to try and turn her around. But she resists and her wide eyes stare past me, still locked on the already shed blood. "Wyre?"

"If he's dead, then what hope is there for us?" Wyre whimpers and I know immediately who she is talking about. The dead Career, the one that was supposed to be safe, the one that no one could touch.

"Every hope in the world, Wyre," I answer, grabbing onto her other shoulder and bringing my face close to hers in an attempt to get her to stop the faraway look, to actually look me in the eyes and talk to me.

"B-but," she whispers and I almost think that I have imagined her talking as the voice she uses is barely her own. "He was so strong."

"This just proves that anyone can die," I tell her in the most steady voice I can bring myself to try. "And that anyone can live, including us."

* * *

**Areyna Kyte, District Eight**

**Rivers Bishop, District Twelve**

**Mayli Dear, District Six**

**Olive Farah, District Eleven**

**Lylac Medo, District Nine**

**Vulcan Crater, District Two**

* * *

**The artist theme for this story will be **_**Three Days Grace.**_

**Song: **_**Life Starts Now**_

* * *

**The blog for this story can be found on my profile. Deaths will be notified here.**

* * *

**You guys may have noticed that on this chapter and on the previous chapters, the voting system has been taken down and I have made some minor changes to the format of this story. Now a question or two will be asked at the end of each chapter which I would love for you to answer, and I also ask for a general review on my writing as well, if you would be so kind.**

**_What do you think of the arena?_**

**_Were you surprised at any of the fallen? At any of the survivors? _**

* * *

**Due to technical issues this chapter took far longer than I thought it would, issues are not _quite _over yet, and with exams also coming up I will try my best to keep updating. We'll have to see though, of course, so be patient please!**


	9. It Seems I'm Fading

**Take Me Under by Three Days Grace**

_Now it seems I'm fading  
All my dreams are not worth saving  
I've done my share of waiting  
And I've still got nowhere else to go_

* * *

**Miram Rivett, 15, District Five**

Nights here are horrible, or for me at least. I knew I couldn't follow my old alliance when they fled from the Cornucopia room. Not after what had happened in Training and especially not after the Bloodbath. Areyna was dead and they would blame me for it. It was me who brought her to the Capitol's attention, they'd say, and they'd be right. I hadn't killed her, somehow or another, the Gamemakers were able to revive her, but my stunt had taken us both into the limelight. She was only twelve, of course they could predict that she would let something slip about what had happened. But the Capitol wouldn't have that, no one could know that someone had defied them. Especially not now, when citizens would realize that they had killed the martyr but had let me live.

_I_ don't even understand why they did it. Why didn't they just kill us both with those spears that shot out from the floor? I've thought about it since it happened, and have realized that of course they couldn't do that. Two deaths before the Games have even begun? People would be suspicious, they would ask questions. With only one death to account for from their little pre-game, questions could be dismissed with a simple explanation. People would think it part of some big surprise to set the mood for the remainder of the Games. A game where one tribute would be picked at random and slaughtered brutally. No one would suspect a thing because it is exactly the kind of thing that the Gamemakers would try.

But then why had it been her? Why not me, the one who had seemingly defied the Capitol by not playing by their rules? That would make more sense, realistically, not that I am in any position to question their method of dealing with my life.

I stop in my tracks as the thought hits me. They want to see what I'll do. They want to find out what the "bloodthirsty" girl who "couldn't wait" will do in the arena. They want the best show and they think that by letting me live, even just for a little while, they'll get it. The smirk on my face is unable to be held back at the mere thought of this. They really do think I'm a monster. They're _toying _with me to see how I'll perform.

I have to do it.

As soon as the words enter my mind I know they're true. They have sole responsibility for my life in their hands; they could destroy me with the push of a button but they haven't. It's a television show, and they expect me to play the part I've shown them I can play. Maybe they'll kill me either way, maybe they're just waiting for me to let my guard down, to get _comfortable_ so they can send something horrible in to destroy me. But maybe I've gotten their attention. Maybe if I can keep it I can still win. If I show them what they want to see I have a chance, no matter how slim.

My feet continue to plod down the dim hallway, making tiny thumping sounds each time they hit carpet. The doors that keep on appearing on either side of the hallway peak my interest but I don't enter any of them. I need to figure out where I am before I do that. Unrecognizable words are carved into rectangular golden plates set on each door. "Gogh", "Warhol", and "Monet"; words that bring no recognition to my mind. There are so many of them that it is impossible to know where you're going or where you've already been. It is unthinkable that I could come across anyone else in this building. It's just so _huge_.

The creaking of a door causes my heart to sink. I look around frantically to see which door it is that is opening. When I notice the door almost directly beside me inching inwards adrenaline kicks in and I take off down the hallway. The nearest door to me in just a few metres away and I'm already inside, peeking through a tiny slit in the door, by the time someone emerges from the door.

The girl from Ten creeps along the wall of the dim hallway with her ally, the boy from Six, close on her heels. The boy look particularly lost and the girl shushes him several times as they slink across the walls. Ten looks around suspiciously but her eyes don't meet mine. The boy can't stop starring at the cuffs of his white sleeves. I take a closer look and see that the red color of the fabric seems to drip down his arms, the pockets and tie of his shirt also having that effect. I look down at my own outfit and see no resemblance, the sleeves are still the same mint green they had been in the Launch room. I look at the girl's sleeves and see hers are a neat brown color, no drippings or smudges like the boy's.

_What makes him different?_ I wonder to myself. _What are the Gamemakers doing now?_

* * *

**Jax Cutrialy, 17, District One**

The Careers are falling. And I don't know if we can get back up.

After Vulcan died none of us knew what to do, we just stood there staring at him. The other tributes ran off and we didn't pursue them. Not even Faye or Maxon could tear their eyes away from the corpse of our fallen leader.

Even now, with the bodies dead and likely on their way back to their respective districts, we all huddle around the Cornucopia. No one says a word but I know what they're thinking, what do we do now? The only disturbance of the entire night was when a scream from Maxon woke all of us in the dead of night. Only she could understand why, until we held up the cuffs of her once golden cuffs to see they had turned a bright red color. The fabric seemed to drip down her arm like fresh blood, so realistic that I would think she had cut herself. But I knew she hadn't. The tassels around her neck and the tops of her pockets had also undergone the same change. The weird thing was that it was only her, all of the rest of us had our original colors on still; Callena and I with our matching pink, and Caddis and Faye with midnight blue. We all had figured out by this time that color of your cuffs was going to be the same as your district partner's.

"Vulcan," Maxon hisses from beside me and I flinch at the sudden breach of the calming quiet. "That's why mine changed. It's because of him."

It all makes sense now. The colors give us some sort of connection to our district partners, so when they die there's a change. Cause and effect, our district partners create and effect on us when they die. They're an extension of us, someone that you would usually be closest to in the Games seeing as they are from home. Maybe it shows that we are the ones responsible for them dying, or maybe it shows something that I can't even fathom. Either way it makes sense. Vulcan's dead and Maxon's bloody, cause and effect.

I think I've figured out the 'how', but there's still the question of a 'why'.

"What do we do now?" Caddis finally asks. Only he is brave or maybe stupid enough to show us that he too is scared of what is happening. We all are, you can tell by the mood of the room, but it's against our nature to show any kind of weakness no matter the situation. Careers aren't supposed to feel fear.

"We move on, obviously," Faye says but her voice has lost the natural sneer that was always audible in it. I notice her fingers tapping nervously on her leg and I almost want to smile. Even almighty Faye, Queen of snide remarks and condescending tones, is feeling the pressure. All of Panem must be focused on us right now, watching to see what we'll do. If we're really as prepared as they all think we are.

"We need a new leader," Caddis states the words that all of us must have been thinking.

Faye and Maxon turn out to the rest of us and at precisely the same moment shout out the same phrase, "I'll do it."

They both turn to each other and any sense of vulnerability that had been present vanishes almost immediately. They stare at each other for a long time, using their eyes to throw daggers at the other until Maxon stands up, pulling the strange axe beside her up with her. It doesn't take long until Faye is up with her, standing over the shorter girl by a good three inches with a shiny spear poised between them.

It's obvious what each of them are thinking. Kill the other and win in two ways, becoming leader and getting rid of an obvious enemy. No one could deny it, even in Training the two girls were always head to head. I wouldn't put it past either of them to kill the other, even if they're supposed to be allies. Their knuckles are all white from gripping the handles so harshly and I know it won't be long before one of them ends up bleeding out on the floor.

Maxon quickly raises her weapon and swings it over her shoulder, but my hand stops her from going further. I had hardly registered the fact that I had stood, but now I realize that I am standing directly between the two Career girls, one arm holding back Maxon's axe and the other holding the middle of Faye's spear.

"Are you two really that stupid that you'll risk our numbers over who's going to be the stupid leader?" I ask and my voice doesn't crack one bit despite the stares that are potent on me. Maxon tries to struggle her arm out of my grip but I won't have it. With a swift kick to her stomach she is sent to the ground on her knees before me. Faye smirks and I thrust the spear from her hands and swing it around to hit her square in the back. She lands on her stomach but quickly moves to a sitting position across from Maxon. "Neither of you are fit to be leader."

"So who's it going to be then?" Maxon spits and then looks at Caddis who hasn't so much as moved from his position beside the Cornucopia and Callena who looks at the scene in front of her with a hint of amusement. "Her? Him?"

"Me," I say firmly and the disgust is evident on her face. I point the tip of Faye's spear just inches from her nose and she stares over it at me, her gaze never wavering. "Any questions?"

* * *

**Cain Frost, 17, District Eleven**

"These things are so creepy."

Alpine looks at me from where he sits with Dove across the room. Dove still looks pretty beat up, bruises all up his cheek and on basically any other part of exposed skin. His nose was covered in crusted blood and was twisted at a painful angle towards the right side of his face. He's slept most of the day and I can tell that Alpine is worried about him, he doesn't say anything but he doesn't leave his side unless I'm there to take over. Dove mumbles gibberish in his sleep, nothing of what he says making any sense to either me or Alpine. I didn't realize how badly he had fared against the Career girl, she had messed him up pretty badly but he should be thankful she hadn't found a weapon.

I turn back to the stone statue that sits in the corner of the room. It's the first room we'd found that wasn't covered in paintings and it made me feel somewhat safer, not much but somewhat. Some of the pictures had been nothing short of abstract, no distinct objects or people. They made your head swim with mindless ideas until you felt like your head might blow up. Others were just downright creepy, containing pictures of animals or people that felt like they were watching you through the paint and pencil. The statues were far better in my opinion.

I dare not touch the stone, knowing full well that anything and everything in this arena could be set to kill me. Best not to tempt the Gamemakers I think, especially when one of my allies is stuck somewhere between consciousness and sleep, mumbling things that I don't even think he can understand. The stone was carved into the shape of some sort of human, but the weird thing was that she didn't have any arms. She was rather pretty though, and I could see why someone would want to create something based on this girl. She couldn't be more than twenty years in age by the youthful look of her face, but the stone that formed her was cracked and chipped. It was symbolic almost, a broken, cracked girl in a Hunger Games arena where all but one body would be bent beyond fixing and the one left would have a mind broken so far that repair would be impossible. I laugh to myself, a low, forced laugh that tells me I'm already one of them. I'm already tainted, so close to breaking after such a short period of time. I don't know how I'll last the night at this point.

I feel Alpine's hand touch my shoulder and I lean into him, my ironic laughter continuing as Alpine looked at me blankly.

"Are you alright Cain?" he asks and my laughter catches for just a second before continuing. He looks from me to Dove with divided concern. We're both broken, we're both broken and he's trying to figure out how to fix us. But that's stupid, he won't be able to. We're already so far gone.

He turns back to the corner where Dove lies with his head on a blanket, but a screeching sound penetrates the calm bubble that coats our sanctuary. Both of us look at each other with wide eyes, my mind snapping back to attention as quickly as it had gone away. I'm the first to the door, closing it swiftly and quietly before Alpine even has a chance to move from his spot.

By the time Alpine joins me, I already have my ear pressed to the door, hearing one set of clumpy footsteps from the hallway where the scream must have come from. A second set of steps joins in, these ones less clumsy than the first set. I hear a sharp gasp and the steps stop.

Whimpering begins and I can tell the person crying must be female, the second tribute attempts to hush her but to no avail. On the contrary, the sobs seem to get louder and I hear one of them slam into the wall, a male voice uttering a hushed curse. The girl whimpers again and I hear a sharp drop that must mean one of them has fallen on the floor.

"Come on, Wyre, please just calm down," the male voice pleads with the girl, Wyre. District Three girl, I remember the name fairly well. She was small I know that, thin too. But that's all I can remember about her, and I can't come up with who could be with her. I don't remember her having an ally.

Another soft cry and more footsteps, this time retreating back where they had come from. I hear a barely audible door slam and I come to the conclusion that they must be hiding nearby. I don't feel threatened at all by the small girl I remember vaguely from Training, and the boy that was with her sounded like he had his hands full with her.

"Cain," a whisper comes from across the room and I turn to see Alpine standing over Dove with his hand pressed carefully to his forehead. "He's warm."

I walk over to them and Alpine moves his hand so I can place my own on Dove's head. Alpine's right, his head is burning up, definitely. A lump forms in my throat, I have no idea why he would have a fever. He has a broken nose, that's it, his forehead shouldn't be burning up. Unless it's something worse, unless when that girl broke his nose she hit something else in his head too.

"Well?" Alpine whispers as if he is scared of waking up Dove who seems utterly unaware of us. His breathing coming in short bursts through his mouth. I don't know, I'm not a doctor. How am I supposed to know what's going on with him? I'm just a kid.

"I don't know," I say finally and Alpine just looks down at Dove whose sleep remains uninterrupted by our sad discoveries. Ignorance is bliss they would say, and in his case they would be right.

* * *

**Noeah Hazurn, 17, District Nine **

I'm becoming inhuman already.

It's been only a day since we were launched into this place, and I can already feel the difference. Images of death and blood flicker continuously through my mind, forbidding me even from the luxury of sleep. All last night I watched over Amaran and Sedo as they slept soundlessly in a room lined with dreary images. Every room is like this, empty if it weren't for the red and gold framed paintings and pictures. Rough carpeted flooring cover each from wall to crimson wall and tiny, rectangular windows sit sight in the crease of the ceiling. Little light streams through them, prohibited from passing through the grime that coats each one. At night all of us learned to appreciate the tiny bits of sunlight we did receive, for with night time came an eerie darkness. Leaving us with only the dim hanging light bulbs to light our way.

It's impossible to escape from the guilt when the arena remains still around me. Nobody tells me anymore that I'm wrong, that I'm not a killer, because they've realized that I am one. Someone's body is being shipped off in a coffin back to their disappointed family because of me. Maybe it was inevitable, the Career leaders rarely win, but despite what he represented and who he was I still can't face it. I'm worse than them, they are courageous and fight their opponents head-to-head, they give them a chance to survive. I'm a coward, I didn't offer him the same opportunity to fight for his life. I didn't fight him fairly because I knew he would kill me. A shot him from a place in the room where none of the Careers could have spotted me. He never had a chance to try and defeat me, it wasn't fair. I was an evil more cruel and wrong than any of the Careers. I was evil filled with cowardice.

From several steps ahead of me, Sedo screams and Amaran and I press ourselves immediately to the side wall to avoid anything that might be causing the bone chilling sound. Nothing comes but the sound persists. I finally look up to Sedo to see his face twisted into a mask of fear, his eyes wide and pupils dilated, and his mouth agape.

"Sedo!" Amaran shrieks, still pressing herself forcibly into the wall. "What is it? What's happening?"

In response his screams only increase in volume.

Amaran runs up to Sedo and takes hold of his shoulders, shaking him harshly. He doesn't even register her presence and his face remains in the twisted version of itself, screams pouring past his lips. The noise stops and Sedo gasps as Amaran slaps her hand across his face, emulating a sound that makes me cringe as if it had been my own face that'd been hit. Sedo finally looks at her and his pupils dance around the hallway wildly. A bright red handprint begins to form on his cheek, but if he notices he doesn't show it.

"Sedo," Amaran says through shaggy breaths, her shoulder rising and falling with a great amount of effort. "What's going on?"

"S-she's here," he stutters, his voice so low that the words barely register in my mind. "She's here for me."

"Who's here?" Amaran asks and I can hear the panic rising in her voice. When Sedo doesn't respond she grips his shoulders again and shakes him into the wall, looking at me with a helpless expression on her face. "Sedo! Who's here!?"

I want to help them, both of them. Amaran because of how helpless she looks and Sedo because of his obvious fear of something that no one else can see but him. But I can't move from my place against the wall, something shocks me into place. Amaran continues to shake him and I can hear it in her breath that she's panicking. We have already lost one ally, two if we wish to count Miram, and now Sedo is going off the edge. I want to help her bring him back, but I just don't know what I can do.

"It's my fault, she says," he whispers finally and tears begin to stream down his pasty face. His eyes have taken on a glazed appearance and his lip quivers as he speaks. "It's my fault."

"What's your fault? Who is she?" Amaran pleads with him, looking so frustrated that I think she might begin to cry as well. We both look at him for another coded answer, but no more words pass his lips as he stares at her face blankly. Eventually, his eyes no longer meet hers and I watch them drift to the picture behind her head. An empty, red frame, the same color as the cuffs Sedo wears.

* * *

**Faye Darson, 18, District Four**

It's almost night by the time we get back. Jax lead us all through the maze of doors and hallways that makes up the rest of the arena. I still can't decide where we are supposed to be. Each of the rooms is practically empty, with just walls filled with pictures and portraits of people I couldn't recognize. There was still so many that we hadn't explored, Jax insisted on staying together and so we only made it so far in the few hours before the windows dimmed and we had to head back to the starting room by the path of half burnt out light bulbs.

Jax decided that we would begin our night rotation immediately so that we could be up and hunting as soon as the lights came on. It made absolutely no sense to me whatsoever, Careers were like nocturnal animals, hunting at night when prey was most vulnerable. He was changing everything, and none of it made sense.

The first rotation meant that Caddis and I were on watch together first. In a few hours we would wake Callena and Maxon for theirs and then Jax would stay up by himself for the final watch. For most of the time I just sat and day dreamed, nothing else to do really. No one was stupid enough to wander into the Cornucopia room, at least not so soon in the Games. Everyone still had food and supplies now, they had had so many chances to grab them before leaving the Bloodbath. I couldn't hope to expect that someone would just walk in ready to be slaughtered, no, we would have to go looking for them. Not sitting here for an early bedtime, hunting. That's what we were here for, and he clearly didn't understand that.

"This is stupid," I whisper to myself, just needing to hear myself say the words out loud instead of keeping them inside me. This was stupid, completely and utterly stupid. I would have been so much of a better leader than Jax would ever be. I know why we were here, I had trained for this just like he had. But unlike him, it seems that I had actually paid attention to the lessons.

"What is?" Caddis whispers from the other side of the Cornucopia mouth.

"Everything," I hiss in answer. I don't want to talk to him right now, this wannabe Career who would never have an ounce of the talent that I had. But the Trainers still wanted him here, he was good I'll admit. He didn't want this though, it wasn't fair that he was still here. He wasn't a _real _Career and he never would be. "Our alliance is completely stupid, we have a leader that doesn't know what the hell he's doing, three of us that actually do but we're not allowed to challenge the egoist, and then there's _you_."

"Me?" He mutters with a shallow gulp.

"Yes you, I know you didn't want to be here. I remember all the times at Training when the instructors would gush about how amazing you were. How they only wish that you would put all that talent to good use and volunteer," I spit at him, my words as venomous as I can make them. "You don't want to be here, so do us all a favour and take yourself out of it before you bring us down."

He doesn't say anything for quite some time, keeping his eyes down while I stare at him intensely, daring him to give me any kind of retort. "If anyone found out you'd be ruined, so why even try Caddis?"

"What else am I supposed to do?" He whispers, his words husky and harsh just like my own. "Just lie down and die?"

"That'd be nice," I mutter.

"Just leave it alone, Faye, it's none of your business what I do and don't do."

"Maybe not, but what do you think Jax would do if he found out you weren't who you say you are? One thing you should know is that he hates liars. I could tell wake him up and tell him right now and you'd be finished."

"I don't care if you do."

"Yes you do."

He is silent once again and I smile to myself, I know he cares and that's the main reason why he will never be like me or Jax or even Maxon and Callena. He's soft, he cares. He could never win this thing, but maybe I can use him so that I will.

"I think we could work something out," I say in sickly sweet voice, leaning myself towards him.

He looks up at me with disgust, his eyes narrowing. "I would never do anything for you."

"If you were smart you would," I shuffle myself closer to Caddis and whisper into his ear. "I have a plan."

"A plan for what," he says far too loud and I clamp my hand over his mouth to quiet him.

"To get this alliance back on track and doing what we're supposed to be doing."

"You mean-"

"First we need to talk to the others, get them on our side," I whisper and he looks at me with his mouth agape. We were going to do this, Jax wouldn't know what hit him. But first I had to talk to Maxon, and convince her to listen to me.

This wasn't going to be easy, but it will sure be worth it.

* * *

**Geare Petrol, 13, District Six**

"It's getting dark," Enya says quietly. "Do you think we should find somewhere to stay for the night?"

I shrug and her face falls, neither of us knows how to lead a group, no matter how small. This was evident since we first left the Bloodbath, neither of us knew where to go or what to look for. When we were hungry we didn't know how much to eat or how much to save so we each ate a small morsel and went to sleep with grumbling stomachs. All night we had slept and only in the morning did we realize how stupid it had been to remain unguarded all night. We didn't know what we were supposed to do, no one taught the little things like that in school or even at Training. It made sense of course not to make yourself vulnerable, but when you're tired and shell shocked your ability to make decisions plummets.

_It would be easier to be alone. _

I shake the voice away and continue walking, Enya gives me a concerned look but I smile it off and her face goes back to facing the front. I don't know why but the voices come more in here than they ever did at home. It's strange to hear them so much, and so loud. Before they were quiet and now they are loud. It's different and I don't like it, why can't things just stay the same?

_Just get it over with, it won't last long anyway. _

But the voice makes sense too, that's why I think it's there. To make sure that I think about things more than I would without it. It helps me to see things sometimes, things that I wouldn't think of on my own. But they're bad things, usually the voice says things that I don't want to do. It makes me think about them though, and I don't want to think about them. Sometimes it helps me but usually it tries to make me do things. Things that I don't want to do. They work their way into my mind until I can't separate my thoughts from ones that aren't mine. But I still make the final decision, at least I think I do.

"Have we already been down this hallway?" Enya asks nervously, biting her index finger. "It looks familiar to me."

I shrug again and keep walking beside her, all these hallways look the same to me anyway. I couldn't tell one from the other if I tried.

_She's not helping you, get rid of her, she'll get you killed if you're not careful. _

I shake off the voice again, it keeps getting louder each time it talks about Enya. I don't know why it doesn't like her, she seems nice and she's trying to help me I think. I can't tell though, I might think she isn't trying to help me or that she is hurting me more. But I don't know if those are my thoughts, I can't tell anymore there are so many of them. I just wish they would get out of my head, I just want to think by myself for once.

"Let's try this one," she says anxiously, turning and following the word on the door with her finger as she sounds it out. "Van-der-veen."

She pushes open the door and peers inside cautiously, when she is satisfied that no one else is in the room she pushes the door open more and steps in. I walk in after her and stop in the doorway, marvelling at the enormous size of the room we're in. The door closes on my back and I inch forward with the impact, stumbling slightly into Enya who has also stopped. All around us are big stones that look like simple versions of animals. Most of them I'd never hear of but one of them looks like a much larger version of a stray dog that I would see wandering around my district, albeit much fatter and with huge paws that are probably the size of my head.

Enya begins walking forward into the room and I follow her. We approach the very largest stone animal that sits in the centre of the room. Standing directly under it, I am in no way similar to the animal in size, with it towering above me with ferocious claws and amazingly carved teeth.

"What is it supposed to be?" I ask and Enya just shrugs, her eyes looking up in wonder at the huge statue in front of us. It looks like it could be some kind of housecat, but larger and meaner looking. I've never seen something so big that looks like it could be alive. Enya stares up at the statue and mouths 'wow' the amazement revealed so clearly on her face.

"I think it's some kind of cat," she says finally, "except a lot bigger."

I nod in agreement, my eyes never leaving the marble colored animal.

Suddenly I feel the ground vibrate under my feet and my eyes peel away from the statue to the ground. I don't see any movement but I can feel it so clearly that my bones seem to vibrate with it. Enya gasps from beside me and she grabs onto my shirt to keep from falling as the vibrations get stronger.

I look back up to the stone animal, and Enya gasps again obviously witnessing the same thing I am. The statue, it's _moving_.

* * *

**The artist theme for this story will be **_**Three Days Grace.**_

**Song: **_**Take Me Under**_

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**The blog for this story can be found on my profile. **

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**I am terribly sorry to the creators that have lost their tributes, I do hope that you will stick around to see the progression of the story. If not then that is okay too and I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. Characters were killed based on personality, storyline and of course whether or not their creator reviewed. Hopefully no hard feelings if your character is gone. **

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**From now on, a question or two will be asked at the end of each chapter which I would love for you to answer, and I also ask for a general review on my writing as well, if you would be so kind.**

_**What do you think of the arena's newest twist? Any predictions of what it could mean for the tributes?**_

_**How do you like the cliff hanger? Any predictions for how that will turn out?**_

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**No deaths this chapter, I thought our tributes deserved a bit of a break after all the craziness of the Bloodbath :P Hope you are all still enjoying this and leave me your thoughts!**


	10. In Someone's Hands

**Get Out Alive by Three Days Grace**

_Don't put your life in someone's hands  
They're bound to steal it away_

* * *

**Enya Hale, 15, District Ten**

My blood freezes as I stare up at the stone beast in front of me. My feet refuse to move and I hold my breath, not wanting to give the thing any indication that I am here. The huge cat moves its head, mechanically at first and then more smoothly, to the left and right. It doesn't seem to know where we are, but it's feet move around and I know that if it moves just a couple metres in our direction that we will both be squashed under its weight.

Beside me, Geare's breaths become ragged as he stares with wide eyes at the statue. I cannot even be sure that he knows I'm still beside him until his small hand reaches out to me, gripping onto my forearm tightly. My arm stiffens but I don't move it, afraid that I might do something to alert the beast to our presence.

But it must know we're here, mustn't it? It only began to move after we had approached it, before that it only stood in the centre of the room with stunning stillness. Unless we activated it. Maybe it doesn't know we're here at all, maybe it just moves when the Gamemakers press a button that tells it to. But what good would that do, isn't this thing supposed to kill us?

Then it hits me, it's blind.

It must be true, for in its stone sockets no eyeballs sit, only deep indentations where it would be assumed eyes would be. The Gamemakers know we're here, but this, this _thing _doesn't. As long as we don't move it won't hurt us.

As its head continues to whip from side to side I take an even closer look at the features of the statue. It has no eyes, this has been made clear by the empty spaces. But it has two holes where its ears sit on the chiselled face. It can't see us, but it can hear us.

Breathing becomes impossible now that these thoughts plague my mind. How can we get away from this thing that could so obviously kill us? Staying here is not an option, that is definite, but if we so much as move a inch towards the doorway who's to say the beast won't jump on us. Rip us apart with those impossibly sharp claws or those strong, stone teeth.

Geare's nails dig so far into my skin that I feel warm liquid run down my arm and hear the nearly silent drip as it hits the floor. Time seems to stand still, both of us staring up at the huge statue as it too freezes in place as another drop hits the floor. Slowly, it turns its head towards us. Empty holes stare at us as though it really could see us and I know it knows we're here. Any hope of getting away from this stone cat without alerting it to our whereabouts has vanished, and so only one alternative is left.

"Run," I hiss into Geare's ear and pull him behind me as I make a mad dash for the door. He stumbles for a moment, lost in the stone beast's nonexistent stare, but follows quickly behind me with his grip still locked on the inside of my arm. Our feet pound across the short distance in sync until I reach the door, fumbling with the doorknob in the panicked moment until finally the door flies open.

Immediately when both of us are outside the door I swing behind us to try and close the door on the thing, but the door hits stone and dents immensely. Geare stops for a second and in that moment it takes him to recover the cat is on us, grabbing Geare from my arms with one enormous swipe of its paw. He shrieks and stumbles upward, narrowly missing being hit again as he falls to the ground in front of me. I reach down and pull him up as quickly as I can and pull his stunned self behind me as I run. He moves with clumsiness, his feet banging into each other which limits my ability to pull him through the hallway.

_He's slowing me down, _I think to myself but try as hard as I can to push the horrible thoughts from my mind, _I don't think we both can make it. _

I shake any doubt from my mind and continue down the hall as fast as I can. We don't make it far, however, and the cat is on us before we can reach the next door. I feel Geare's arm being suddenly ripped from my grasp and I scream and turn around. The statue has Geare held down under an enormous paw, it's head ducks down and tears at his chest with a sickening rip. Geare looks at me with wide, innocent eyes, willing me to do something to save him but instead I remain frozen. The beast swipes across his face with tough claws, drawing four parallel streaks of blood and ripping away so much skin that his face becomes unrecognizable. Geare still whimpers and cries out when the thing swipes or claws at him, so for now I know he's alive. I know I should help him, but I just can't find the ability to.

An ear shattering shriek rips through my ears as the cat rips away at my young ally with its huge teeth, and it's too much. I take off down the hallway as fast as I can trying to ignore the pleas for help that come from behind me. I can't save him, if I try I'll die too. He has to know that. He has to know that I don't want him to die, I'm just too scared to die too. I swing open a door and rush inside, the last thing that reaches my ears before the door slams shut being a high-pitched scream that I can almost make out to be my name.

I crouch down against the door, my legs and arms shaking and my breaths coming in ragged gasps. I bring my hands to my face and when they come away moist I realize that I must have been crying. The image of Geare being ripped apart by that, that _animal_, is still fresh in my mind and replays over and over again until finally a distant cannon breaks the streak. He's gone, my only ally that hasn't abandoned me is dead.

And it's all my fault.

* * *

**Toriton Aszero, 15, District Five**

My hand traces the golden frame of one of the wall hangings in the room, I still am unable to understand why such beautiful things would be placed in somewhere as horrible as this. I don't ever remember seeing pictures that looked this clear and precise, nowhere in District Five is there a place like this arena where we can go and just look at a whole bunch of art. It's amazing to think that maybe in other districts, or even in the Capitol, they might have those. I've never been one for sentiments but it's just so beautifully unfair that I almost want to cry.

The next picture is my favourite one that I have come across. It's a grainy, almost childish drawing of a man on a bridge. Off in the distance there is a sunset made of wavy red, yellow, and blue lines and the water underneath it seems to brighten as it gets further away from the bridge and closer to the sunset. The entire entity of the water is centered around this boat that faces away from the picture, almost as if the captain of that ship were steering away from the bridge and closer to the bright water under the sunset. Away from the darkness and into the light.

There are three figures on the bridge, two being undistinguishable figures that are created solely in a dark blue and the other being the centerpiece of the picture. The man in the front holds his hands to his face and has his mouth wide open in a scream. I don't know why he is screaming though, when he can so clearly see the goodness that lies around the sunset. Shouldn't he be happy, that he can look off that bridge and see the light, when he is so caked in darkness?

I guess he's kind of like the tributes in here. The bridge and the dark water under it represents where we are now, the arena. A place of grave depression that seems inescapable. Then the little boat that's riding away from the darkness, that's the Victor. They get to be taken away from all the sadness that happens here, and ride off into the sunset with knowledge that they will live in perfect luxury for the rest of their lives. It's poetic almost, a hard comparison to come up with but I have had a lot of time to think in the past couple days. Being alone does that to you.

My heart stops when the door begins to creep open. Time seems to freeze as I stand there with my hand still touching the gold frame and my head reeling with endless possibilities of what could be trying to get in that door. The only sound I can hear is the creaking of the door as it slowly opens; not even my breathing or the beating of my heart is audible. It's only the door.

The door flings open the rest of the way and the movement shocks me. I start running up to the space and, against my better judgement, I tackle the first person whose figure appears to me. I hear a girlish squeal and feel a hard shove on my chest, not enough to move me from over the person but enough to knock me back a bit so that the light finally showed me the figure's features.

It's Miram.

Her eyes are open wide and her mouth is slightly agape. Her pale face looks up at me and all I can see is fear, and even though I remember what she did in training and how no regret had showed on her face that night on our floor, I felt _pity_ for her. Her bottom lip trembled and I think that she might start crying right now. I swing my leg back over her and stand up, offering a hand to her which she takes shakily. She opens her mouth to speak but I shush her quickly and pull her into the room, closing the door firmly behind me.

"Where is the rest of your alliance?" I ask, remembering the strong looking girl from Twelve, the nice guy from Eight and the archer from Nine. All of which are still alive.

"I couldn't go back to them," Miram blurts out and tears begin to slide slowly down her cheeks. "Amaran would have killed me, she never liked me and after the accident in Training, I-I."

She buries her face in her hands and her shoulders shake with sobs. I find myself wanting to comfort my district partner, no matter the fact that Mace had warned me about her and that I had my own, rather nasty, opinions of her previously. Right now she just looked scared, maybe it was all an act back in the Capitol. Maybe she really is as fragile and innocent as she looks, trapped in accidental circumstances as she so claims.

"Oh," is all I manage to say, standing awkwardly a few feet away from Miram as she cries. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say to her, but I feel a strange surge to protect her, maybe because despite her being the same age as me, she is a good bit smaller than me. She just looks so damn tiny.

"Can I stay with you," she whimpers, lifting her head slightly up so that I can look into her eyes and see the tears leaking over her eyelids.

"Of course."

* * *

**Fuze Lypton, 16, District Three**

"Please just sit down," I plead with Wyre once more. "We need to stay here and figure out what we're supposed to do!"

My tone of voice sounds flustered, which is completely true for my attitude right now. I don't understand why she won't listen to me. She's run through the door several times while I've been sleeping, flung supplies around our little room as if she had been searching our bag for something, and now she won't stop circling the room as if she were in some sort of trance.

I pull on her arm and she flinches away from me, pulling her arms in close and turning to face me. Her eyes look confused and wild, never resting on one thing in particular but instead flitting around the nearly empty room. I try and get her to sit down beside me but she doesn't budge, her entire body locked and tense. I look at her in desperation but it doesn't even seem like she sees me. I wave my hands in front of her face and she blinks rapidly but still only looks around with confusion. Does she even know what's going on?

I release her arm and slide down the wall to the floor, burying my face in my knees and taking several deep breaths to calm myself. I don't know what I'm supposed to do with her, she never acted like this in the Capitol. It has to be some sort of stress reaction, but it doesn't help me any to know this. I just need time to think, time to get myself together. We don't have a chance if both of us are as unresponsive as Wyre is right now, no, I have to breathe.

After several moments I lift my head, still breathing as evenly as I can so that I keep myself calm. Suddenly, something doesn't feel right. My calming breaths stop altogether and become a gasp as I frantically search around the near vacant room and it's what I don't see that panics me. Wyre.

I stand up quickly and turn my head from side to side even though I know it's pointless. There is nothing that could possibly hide her from my view if she was in here, that's precisely why I chose this spot for us. I need to watch her and now I can't see her. I whisper her name as loud as I dare and shuffle towards the heavy door that sits open just enough for someone small like my district partner to be able to slide past. I open it wider so that I can get through and I close the door behind me, aware of the fact that an open door seems out of place and it could alert someone to us.

The hallway seems even more foreboding than it had yesterday when I'd dragged Wyre down it and into the tiny room. I try and make my feet step as quietly as possible but even so, each time my foot hits the floor I hear a loud thump that makes me wonder why no one has yet to find me. I slip past a door that is cracked slightly open, now holding my breath in case someone is hiding inside. I only release the air from my lungs when I have made it a good distance from the slightly open door.

My head turns around as fast as humanly possible, searching for any sign of Wyre in the blur of gold and crimson tainted by the dimness of the arena. I dare to whisper her name again but I don't think anyone can hear it but me, the word was that quiet. I hear a door slam in the distance and my heart takes a leap before settling somewhat in my chest. My ears strain for any more sound but I hear none.

_Come on Wyre, where are you?_

I round another corner, getting further and further away from the safety that I had managed to create for myself in that little closet. Something catches my eye just as I turn the corner and I feel a surge of relief followed by a feeling of foreboding. A door, half open in a hallway with no sounds to be heard. It might be her, I might have found her. I might still be able to keep the promise that I made to myself, the one that I would protect her and give her the best chance I could to get home to District Three.

But then again, it might not be her.

I creep towards the door with my heart beating so loudly in my ears that I am unable to keep track of the sound of my own steps. When I reach it, after what feels like an hour long journey, I press myself into the wall beside it and listen as best I can for any sounds coming from within. Nothing reaches my ears and I take a slow breath in before peering slowly through the doorway and into the dimly lit room.

Relief floods over me when I see Wyre crouched in the centre of the room, facing away from me to stare at the wall behind her. But, the dark hair and small frame give her away, it's definitely her.

Despite myself, I rush into the room and wrap my arms around her as tightly as I can. She flinches when I first make contact with her but doesn't pull away from me as I cry tears of relief into her knotted hair. I move away and see Wyre staring at me with a puzzled look but I don't pay it much attention.

She might not be fully alright, but at least for now she's _safe_.

* * *

**Amaran Luminera, 18, District Twelve**

I feel my heart pounding in my chest as the scream shakes the room that holds my two allies and me. My entire body nearly leaps into the air and an arm shoots out as I roll into the wall. I hear Noeah cry out, being woken from sleep as I had also been. I hear him slam into the wall before another scream cuts through the air and sends me flying upwards to find the source of the sound.

I stare across the room at Sedo who stands with his back to us, facing a red-framed black canvas that is void of any and all imagery. He screams and flails his arms around him with panicked eyes as if something was attacking him but I see no threat. Noeah is already on his feet and making his way carefully across the room towards Sedo before I can even pry myself away from where I have scared my body into the wall. Noeah creeps up on him as if stalking prey and hesitates a moment before grabbing hold of Sedo from behind and trying hopelessly to tie back both of his arms so that he will stop lashing out at the frame and at himself. Sedo doesn't even seem to register his touch and only uses Noeah as a backboard for his hits and flails.

Noeah manages to lift Sedo from the ground slightly to try and knock off his balance but all he gets in return is a harsh kick to the shin. Noeah cringes but keeps his feeble hold on our ally. He calls out to me and I jump to my feet, rushing across the room to try and restrain Sedo from Noeah who has become the target of each and every kick and hit delivered with bloodshot eyes and startled yells. I grab hold of his arm and he spins around and out of Noeah's grasp, hitting me across the head with his opposite hand. I fall forwards on my knees, not expecting the sudden lash and he kicks me in the back for good measure. Sedo's now behind me and I brace myself for another kick, trying to stop the stars from spinning round my head.

Nothing comes though and I open my eyes, turning myself slowly to face the direction I last remember Sedo coming from. My eyes are somewhat blurry but I blink it away and soon enough the room comes back into clear view, only the soft ringing in my ears to remind me of the hard hit. A few metres from me, Noeah tries to defend himself from Sedo, who hits out randomly, with his arms raised in front of him.

"Sedo!" I shriek, panic raising in me from the random attack our ally has begun on us. "What are you doing, we're trying to help you!"

"You don't know," he says, his voice coming to a delusional form of laughter that sends an eerie shiver down my spine. "Neither of you know, they're not gone they're still here, watching us, always watching us."

He turns back towards the red picture frame and shrieks a horrible, high-pitched scream that forces Noeah and me to cover our ears. Noeah runs up and slaps him hard on the cheek, sending him staggering back towards me so that I have to move to avoid being tripped over. Sedo stands up, his body shaking and his breaths coming hard. He runs at Noeah and tackles the larger boy to the ground, landing fully on top of him with his face so close to Noeah's face that I can see the discomfort and fear on his face. I try and stand up but stumble around the room for a few steps before falling into a nearby wall.

I hear Sedo hiss something to Noeah but I can't make out any individual words. The evidence is clear on Noeah's face that it is nothing pleasant, and after getting over the initial fear Noeah throws him off of himself and crawls away from the crazed tribute. Sedo looks around at each of us in turn, reduced to fear of the boy that is bigger than neither of us and the least skilled of our group. Neither of us moves and Sedo's face changes from confusion to pure rage.

"You haven't seen her! You don't know but you'll see him," he says loudly, pointing a shaky finger at me and then moving to Noeah. "And you'll see her!"

With that he turns and runs from the room, exiting out the door and leaving it wide open. For a second neither me nor Noeah are able to move and we just lay in opposite corners of the room staring at each other with wide eyes. He's the first to his feet and he helps me up quickly before running towards the door. I stagger over and am able to make it to the door without falling as I had before. I peek my head out the door just in time to see Sedo running wildly down the hallway, banging into frames and small statues but not seeming to care all that much.

For a moment I catch a pair of tiny eyes peeking out from a doorway across the way from ours but they soon disappear and leave me wondering if I had imagined them altogether. Noeah leans heavily against the door for just a second before ushering me back into the room and shutting the door firmly. As soon as it seems like we are finally safe, he buries his face in his hands and slides down the wall to the ground, muttering something that I don't quite catch.

"What was that?" I ask, my breathing heavy.

He takes his hands away from his face and lifts his chin up towards me. It is only then that I notice the red lining his eyes and the purplish bags under his eyes. "He said he saw Areyna, and that she told him to kill us."

* * *

**Kiera Maaz, 16, District Seven**

I heard the screams minutes ago and I have been walking towards them ever since. Screams mean a fight, a fight means a loser but in this case it also means an injured winner. An easy target and another kill. Just what I need to prove myself to the Capitol audience, another kill under my belt. And as much as it makes me hate myself to do it, I still want to live. I like to think of myself as strong, but right now I see nothing but weakness. Fear is a weakness, I'm scared to die and that makes it hard to resist the urge to fight to win.

Fear is also a strength though, it means that I will do what it takes to come out on top, because I'm scared of what will happen if I don't. Fear goes both ways, but I don't want fear. I want to be fearless so that I won't have to play this game. If I wasn't scared to die, I wouldn't have to kill. This is how the Hunger Games is able to keep going on. We're just kids who are scared to die, and fear can do horrible things to a person. It's a weakness and a strength, but all in all it controls us either way.

It controls me. And I can do nothing to stop it.

So I will run to the site of the newest fight and look for whoever just won it. I'll kill them if I can because that's what I need to do. I won't do it because I'm a bad person, I won't do it because I enjoy it or because it gives me some kind of sick pleasure. I'll kill them because at this point there's nothing else I can do.

Nobody who isn't in this situation could understand that.

I keep walking, with my fingertips tracing the wall beside me. I listen for the steady streams of terrified cries but they seem to have stopped. I stop for a moment and survey my surroundings. Sure enough it's exactly as I figured it would be, I have no idea where I am. I sigh heavily and decide to keep walking. At some point I'll run into someone, right? The Gamemakers would want that, they would want to see me fight and if all goes as I hope it will they will want me to win. I have to become popular with the Capitol people, and more importantly with the sponsors. Maybe other people think that this is a game based completely on strength, skill, and strategy but I would beg to differ. It's based on popularity as well. What determines if you are going to be the target of the Gamemaker's next scheme? Popularity.

Think about it, why would the Gamemakers kill off a viewer favourite when they could use someone who has fallen out of favour. The Capitol plays a huge role in whether we win or lose, and to have a fair chance at victory I need to become popular. This has never been my strong point, being popular, but no one knows me there. They know my name and my district, they don't care who I was before I came here. They only care what I show them here, so I will show them what they want to see. I'll get that chance at survival because I will work for it. I'll earn it.

I hear footsteps coming up ahead of me and I slow my own steps, gradually coming to a complete stop. I remain completely still and listen as carefully as I can to try and hear how close they are. It's only a single set, always a good sign, and they don't sound particularly loud which could mean it is someone smaller. They continue to get closer and closer towards where I stand and I take a deep breath, pulling a knife out of my belt and preparing myself for the tribute.

He comes around the dim corner before I expect him too, the whites of his eyes startling me for a moment as they stick out of the dimness. He doesn't see me right away and nearly runs right into me before stopping in front of me and letting out a blood curdling scream. It is him, the one I heard before. I'd been hunting him and now I found him, but I find myself hesitating for a second. The feral look in his eyes and the shaking of his limbs tells me that he is not alright, not that I am supposed to care.

Coming back to my earlier thought process, I stab out at him with my knife and the blade enters his arm and vibrates harshly when it hits bone. I shiver slightly and another scream forces me to step backwards in surprise.

The boy just stands there, clutching his opposite arm to his shoulder and swinging out randomly at nothing with the other, screaming in pain all the while. I find myself hesitating to approach him again, but I force everything from my mind.

_He would kill me, _I tell myself. _If he had the chance he would do it to me._

And with that I send the knife forcefully towards his chest.

The screams stop immediately and he just stops and looks at me with wide eyes. My hand is frozen on the blade handle that sticks out of his chest and my eyes remain locked with his. He breaks our eye contact and moves down to the knife, pulling my hand away from his chest and bringing the knife out with it. He looks back up at me with a sense of betrayal on his face and falls all at once to the ground.

I swallow hard and turn away from his body as a cannon sounds. I take a few steps before my eyes get blurry and I lean into a wall and then allow myself to slide down it and sit with my hands on my temples, my finger shaking against my skull.

_I never betrayed him, _I tell myself quickly while trying desperately to swallow the tears for the sponsors. _I won't betray anyone because I don't know them. _

But I can't shake away the look on the boy's face before he died, the look that told me hated me with everything in him.

* * *

**Maxon Slate, 17, District Two **

"I hate him."

"I hate you," I retort without even turning around to see who it is. I would know that voice anywhere, not only is it one of only two female voices that I should recognize besides my own, but I know that at this point Callena isn't speaking to anyone.

Faye sits down beside me and sighs loudly, "back at you."

"What do you want, Faye?" I cut to the chase. It's obvious that she isn't just talking to me out of courtesy or even interest. She wants something from me, and I would bet my right arm that I know what that something is.

She turns her head to look behind us and I absentmindedly follow the path her eyes take. Jax kneels in front of a large crate and digs through it, pulling out various items as he goes along. He talks to Callena, who sits lazily with a box on her lap which she pays little attention to, casually and she catches my eye for a moment and narrows her eyes at me. She has been stuck with Jax since he took over yesterday. I guess, unfortunately for her, he has taken a liking to the Career girl. Though I'm sure even Caddis could tell him that she wasn't interested, and that boy isn't exactly the most observant.

It takes me a moment to realize that Faye had turned back to look at me and when I see the look in her eyes it doesn't surprise me to see them full of hatred. It does, however, surprise me to find that I don't feel the hatred being directed at me. Our rivalry is probably going viral all over the Capitol, since day one of Training we haven't exactly gotten along, and I'm almost glad. It keeps the focus on us, on the Career pack where it should be. Sponsors eat this kind of thing for breakfast, and when the time comes to split and I am finally able to slit that pretty little throat, I'm sure the profits of the deed will almost outweigh the joy I'll have at finally ending her stupid chatter. Every Victor has a rival, it's television after all.

"I'm serious," she says finally, her eyes drilling into me like blue lasers. "He's ruining all of us, who would want to sponsor a Career pack that doesn't kill. We should be focusing on making up for the Bloodbath."

I can't help but agree with her. We can't be in good standings with the Gamemakers at this point after letting go of one of our best so early and allowing so many tributes to escape without even a scratch to show for our efforts. I hate to admit that Little Miss Perfect is right but she is, but of course I can't just tell her that.

"What's wrong with him," I say casually, allowing all the concern to drop instantly from my voice. "I kind of like just sitting around, drawing out the experience."

Faye's eyes narrow and she scoffs at me, "are you kidding me?"

I shrug half-heartedly, not giving her any kind of definite opinion on the matter. I know she's trying to get me to help her take out Jax, that much was obvious from the moment she started talking, but that doesn't mean that I'm going to make this easy for her. "What's going to happen if we get rid of him?"

I see her eyes light up and a smug smile flashes briefly across her lips, "co-leaders, you and me."

"Who says that will be any better than having him in charge. It's not like we'll ever agree on anything."

"You'll be in charge of Callena and I'll take on Caddis," she explains. "We'll hunt separate and share resources until the final eight and then we'll all split."

"Who says they'll agree to that?"

"I do."

I keep my face blank and mull it over for a moment. Two Career packs within one. It makes so much sense but could it actually work? How am I supposed to believe that she isn't planning on killing both of us after Jax is out of the picture? There's so many 'ifs' and too many questions to ask. It'd be a horrible risk, but really what choice do I have? Jax needs to go, that much is definite. We can work out the details of what happens afterwards when the deed is done.

"I'm in," I say shortly and the grin comes back to her face, reaching her eyes within seconds.

"Thought you would be," she says smugly and stands up slowly. "The plan goes on tonight, I'd suggest you stay awake too, lest we change our minds about you."

I stare her down from below and nod sharply. To anyone else it would sound like a joke, but to me it only sounds like one thing, a _promise._

* * *

_**Geare Petrol, District Six**_

_**Sedo Monya, District Eight**_

* * *

**The artist theme for this story will be **_**Three Days Grace.**_

**Song: **_**Get Out Alive**_

* * *

**The blog for this story can be found on my profile. Deaths will be notified here. **

**I am terribly sorry to the creators that have lost their tributes, I do hope that you will stick around to see the progression of the story. If not then that is okay too and I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. Characters were killed based on personality, storyline and of course whether or not their creator reviewed. Hopefully no hard feelings if your character is gone.**

* * *

**From now on, a question or two will be asked at the end of each chapter which I would love for you to answer, and I also ask for a general review on my writing as well, if you would be so kind.**

_**What do you think of the new alliance between Miram and Toriton?**_

_**Any ideas on what is going to happen with Faye and Maxon's plan?**_

* * *

**I feel really horrible that this chapter is so late, I've been having some medical issues lately and writing is tough. I am doing much better now though so no worries! **

**In case some of you are still confused, the red picture frames allow the tributes to see their dead district partners (note the correlation between the cuff and frame color) and their partners have... changed a bit ;P hope you all like the little twist! **


	11. Silence is Over

**Bully by Three Days Grace**

_She can't remember, when she loses her temper_

_Nobody knows her but tonight the silence is over_

* * *

**Caddis Tamar, 18, District Four**

Somehow this doesn't feel right. It sounded like it was the only way to gain back our edge with the sponsors when Faye explained the plan last night but now I'm not so sure. She never told me what was going to happen once we got rid of Jax. It just doesn't seem like we've thought this one through.

Or maybe that's not the case at all. Maybe this plan has been thought through and through, once and twice over, but without my inclusion. Maxon and Faye have spoken in hushed voices periodically throughout the day. It is possible I don't know everything that's going on like Faye says I do?

She wouldn't lie to me, would she?

Of course she would.

What reason does she have to be completely truthful with me besides my trust. And she already has that, or at least as close to it as she could want. She knows all about my back in Four, she knows that I don't want to be here. She could ruin me within this slowly breaking alliance and no matter what I think about what's going on around me I have no other option but to stay and fight like I never wanted to. I'm a Career, whether or not I have the mindset of the others is highly debatable but I've been trained like them. I'm no more apt to feed or water myself than any of those in my alliance. Careers are trained as pack animals, not as lone wolves. I can't break away from the pack because once I do I'm a sitting duck. I need to be here, and that means I need to make Faye keep quiet about my past.

It's just so much thinking, it's hard to process.

And now we're going to do something that could either secure our place as Careers within the Capitol or ruin us in the arena so that none of us make it out. Possibly even both. Jax is impossible, that much is definite. Maxon and Faye hate him as their leader even more than they hate each other. Without a common enemy what's to say they won't go after each other like they're going after Jax? Would I kill Maxon like I'm going to help kill Jax if Faye told me to? I would, I would have to. Anything she asks me to do I have to do it because I really don't have any other choice.

My brain is pounding against my head and I raise my hands to my temples to try and elevate the painful headache. I close my eyes for just a moment to allow myself a second of busy peace. It feels good to just be able to think inside myself without everything around to distract me. Just me and my own thoughts, no Faye to make me do things I would never have even considered, no Jax looking at me with a hard, unknowing stare, nothing else but me and my thoughts. But of course it can't last forever and I'm not even surprised when I feel a bump on my shoulder and I have to force my eyes open to the dim, eerie room.

Faye kneels beside me so close that I can feel her breath on my cheek when she speaks and can see the gears turning in her mind as she works through the agreed upon plan. "Ready?"

I nod and look around once again, scanning the room that is lit only by a few swinging light bulbs and the glowing light of the moon through the dirty windows. It must be early morning or late at night, the darkness is so absolute that it couldn't be any other time of day. I swallow hard once she turns her red-head away to take a quick look inside the Cornucopia. Callena and Maxon are already in the mouth of out fortress, no doubt if all four of us were away it would arouse suspicion, and I see Faye give a quick movement of the head when she spots them in the darkness. Faye motions me forward with a wave of the hand and I scoot forward on my hands and knees towards where she sits a few feet ahead of me.

I don't understand why the plan has to be this complicated. All we have to do is wait for him to fall asleep and one of us can kill him, no? But that's not what was agreed upon. Maxon and Faye wanted him to be awake, at least after he is detained. They want him to see himself being killed. They want to _torture _him, as if merely killing him is not enough. But that's what Careers do. Trained monkeys that make the Capitol's little show just that much more interesting. A simple cut throat is no fun for the audience, no, they need to see an intense fight or an emotional confrontation, or in this case a torturous death for someone who in reality has done nothing wrong.

* * *

**Faye Darson, 18, District Four**

Caddis finally reaches me and I usher him into the mouth of the Cornucopia ahead of me. He and Maxon agreed to hold him so that he wouldn't be able to hurt anyone and so that he would be easier to have some, _fun_ with.

I would be the one killing him, which basically means that his name will go on my kill list and I will be the one held in honor for killing someone of his caliber. I never thought that when I killed him it would mean anything, but killing a Career leader? That's an accomplishment that will follow me throughout the rest of my life. Just like that other boy from the Bloodbath that killed Vulcan. If he were to live he would be held in a higher ranking for taking him down. You're only as good as the people you kill. That's what some of the trainers used to say back in the Academy. It makes sense, if you go through the Games killing only the snivelling babies or the scrawny weaklings then it don't make you Victor material. Killing someone in Jax's position though. That's something even if he really isn't much more skilled than any of the outer districts.

I move in behind Caddis, keeping my breaths low so that I do not wake Jax prematurely. I can see Callena sitting in the far corner of the Cornucopia amongst the boxes and containers, her eyes watching me with intent but making no move towards us. Callena isn't very involved in this plan, there was no place for her. She is neither strong enough to hold Jax back nor sinister enough to kill him like we plan to. I instructed her to merely tie up his feet once he is detained and then get the hell out of the way.

Unlike Callena, Maxon's eager grin gives away the excitement in her and I have to force the smirk away from my lips before I disrupt the mutual truce that her and I have formed. I think we both realize that we stand on thin lines with the other, and I don't think that's apt to change at any point in the future, especially not in the arena. I just hope she doesn't get any smart ideas in that simple little mind of hers. At least not until the deed is done and over, and then we can find out if we are going to work with each other or against each other. Personally, I don't mind it either way and I'm not going to be the one to cry peace if she chooses to fight me.

I can feel the stares of all three of my allies on me and I feel a wave of confidence. I should have always been the leader, not Vulcan and most certainly not Jax. This was always my place. But I guess it's better late than never. I give a quick nod of the head and Maxon and Caddis spring to their feet and creep over to the sleeping form of our, soon to be dead, ally.

Jax doesn't awaken until both of the others have their hands gripped firmly around his arms, but when he does the look of panic is evident on his face. Jax isn't stupid, he knows what's going on. I give him a devilish smile and take a step towards him, his eyes widen as I get closer to him and this only causes my grin to widen. "Morning."

Maxon pushes the arm she is holding into the side of the Cornucopia causing Jax to grimace. His eyes don't leave mine though, glaring and strong. Surprising, I would have thought him to be nothing more than a big talker, but I guess he does have some fight in him. It's almost a shame that we have to kill him, maybe if he would have kept his big mouth shut than he would have been able to help us. Oh well.

"Let go of me," he grunts and the rest of us laugh.

"No can do, Jax," I giggle and crouch down to pull a knife out of one of the near backpacks. I smile when I see that it's a serrated hunting knife that would be best suited to skinning animals or cutting wood. Perfect. "Unfortunately, your little leadership campaign is over. Well, unfortunately for you at least."

His eyes don't leave mine and every trace of fear that I had seen before in his eyes has vanished. He's strong, I'll give him that, but not stronger than a hunting knife. Not by a long shot. I whip my arm in a semi-circle towards him and he turns away quickly as it slices across his face, leaving a long, bloody slash across his cheeks and lips. Blood begins to slide down his flesh and drip off his chin and Jax's eyes remain closed with his face turned away from me and towards Caddis. A triumphant look is evident in Maxon's eyes as she smirks at Jax's defeat and I can't help but share in the moment with her. Our plan is working, no doubt Jax will die today. But what will happen after that?

I push the thoughts from my head, what will happen tomorrow will happen. Instead I will myself to only concentrate on what's happening in front of me, meaning Jax's drawn out execution. I glance down at the hunting knife and see a thin line of blood on the blade, nothing compared to the blood running from the cuts on his face. I lash out again with the knife and this time cut a deeper slash across the white uniform that sits on his stomach. I see Jax's hands flinch towards his stomach but he resists the urge and keeps his eyes closed and away from my view. Blood immediately begins to soak through his white uniform and Maxon's smile only grows.

This cut doesn't make me feel quite as good though. My arm hesitates before it cuts across the air to him once more. I was convinced he would struggle, yell, kick, and scream at us to let him live, but he just takes it? The worst part is, part of me wonders if he would actually be a better leader than Maxon or I. No, don't be ridiculous. He was only going to ruin us.

_But aren't we already ruined? _

I give my head a quick shake and look at Jax's braced body and tensed body, feeling something like sympathy at sight. This is what I need to do, it was my plan. It's the only way that we can survive and thrive on sponsor gifts. Isn't it? I'm not so sure anymore.

Why am I having second thoughts?

My mind swims with thought after thought. This is wrong, this is right. Soon I don't even know what voice to listen to or believe. Without allowing myself to hesitate for a second longer I re-grip the knife and drive the point straight into his heart.

* * *

**Wyre Felix, 14, District Three**

I think the picture is looking at me.

The beady, animalistic eyes that at the same time look vaguely human, sticking out against a black canvas. I continue to stare back at it, searching the darkness behind the eyes for any kind of shape or form. Lines begin to appear but then disappear, some morph into other shapes but eventually the lines go away and in their place there's something else. My eyes must be playing tricks on me, I tell myself silently and smile. I figured this one out, there's nothing behind it. It's only eyes with no sort of creature to own them. It must be like the Capitol, always here and watching but with no physical body present even though we can all feel it. That has to be it.

Something brushes against my shoulder but I don't really take much notice of it. I move my gaze away from the picture but immediately regret it. With nothing else to busy my mind the other pictures return, the bad ones. A chill runs down my spine and I shiver as my perfect memory comes up with the image of a little girl pinned up high on a wall by a metal stick. I close my eyes tightly and my fingers tap harshly against the sides of my head. I hate that picture more than the other ones, it's so easy to replace the face of the girl with that of my family, Fuze, or even myself.

I open my eyes again and hurriedly search the room for another picture, anything to occupy my mind. Maybe if I see enough of them they will start to replace the bad pictures that I just can't seem to get rid of. I finally pick one near the door of the room and my feet step silently towards it. Another pull at my arm but I try not to stop moving. I need to see it much closer to understand it, from here it doesn't look like much. But if it's in this place there must be a reason. That's how I busy my mind and get rid of the bad pictures for a while, by looking at the new pictures and figuring out why they're here. Everything in here must have some kind of meaning, and meanings take a while to find. That's good though, more thinking and less remembering is far better.

I notice that I've stopped moving, well my feet still step in time but my body is going anywhere now. I turn behind me and see two big hands clutching my arm. I frown and stare at the arms, why are they trying to keep me from going when the perfect distraction is not here but there? I use my free hand to try and pry the hands from my arm but they don't budge and I still can't move.

The grip on my arm is released but before I can move towards the picture the hands move up to my shoulders and squeeze them hard. I move my eyes from the hands to the face that lies just half a foot from mine. I frown again when I see that it's Fuze.

_Why won't he let me go, _I ask myself, _doesn't he see the bad pictures too? Doesn't he want the distraction of the new pictures to keep them away?_

He starts to say something but I don't catch it. Instead my eyes start to squint and my body tenses as another picture takes over my memory. A girl with light hair and wild eyes, held and her throat cut open by a bigger boy with dark hair and a calm expression. My mind twists the memory, replaying it again and again, over and over. But the faces change each time. One combination sticks though. After seeing every person I know and love die and kill and die again, two faces stick and replay. My own eyes, crazed with fear and adrenaline, caught between a knife and a boy with brown eyes taken with calmness and something else. Hatred.

The second time the twisted memory plays in my head I scream. The brown eyes stare back at me, the same ones as the boy in my picture. I rip his hands from my shoulders and try to run backwards. My body slams into a wall and I crumple to the floor.

Fuze stands over me with concerned eyes, but a second later they change to the calm hatred that they had in my image. I scream again and this time the concern stays, but I don't let it fool me. I jump to my feet and quickly scan the room for an exit. The only one I see is about ten feet away and I sprint towards it, nearly falling twice before reaching it.

A startled cry comes from behind me but I don't risk a look back. I pull open the door as far as I can and run through it, closing it behind me as soon as I'm through. Something slams into the closed door but I pay little attention, instead taking a quick look around me.

All I see is a long, carpeted hallway with lots of pictures and lots of doors. I can stay out here but what if he finds me again? No, I have to get as far away as possible from the boy who will kill me. I sprint down the hallway and make two, sharp turns before throwing open a door and rushing into the room.

I think it's dimmer in here, but it doesn't really matter to me. A flash of gold catches my eye and I settle into the side of the room, in front of a picture so huge it takes up and entire wall. I hug my knees up to my chest and stare into the folded mountains and tiny people that carry long metal rifles and wear cute little soldier caps. It's pretty obvious what this one is supposed to represent but I take time to look at it its many little scenes and details. I feel instantly calmed at the airy mountain setting that, despite the bloody battle going on in its folds, remains peaceful and perfect. My eyelids begin to fall slightly and I let my chin rest on my knees as I stare into the good picture.

A tight squeeze around my wait brings me out of my trance and I stiffen instantly. I whirl my head around to find the source and I see Fuze kneeling behind me. His eyes catch mine and they start to try those tricks again, the ones that make me believe that he cares about me when really he just wants to cut my neck open like he did in my memory. I won't fall for it, though. He can pretend to care but my memory showed me who he really is. He thinks that he can kill me but I know he won't. He won't because he can't. He can't because I'm far too clever for him.

* * *

**Miram Rivett, 15, District Five**

"This way, Miram, right?" Toriton asks me for at least the fourth time since we stepped out of the last room. I give him a playful smack on the shoulder and hiss for him to be quiet, again for about the fourth time.

He quickly clamps his hand over his mouth and nods shyly. I don't really understand Toriton, every time I talk to him it's as if I'm talking to a completely different person. When I met him on the train he was very angry, ripping things off the wall and slamming things against the table until the Escort ordered for him to be detained in his room until we got to the Capitol. The next day it was the total opposite, he skipped out of the Chariot and up to our new room in the Training Center. A complete personality change. The next day he was angry again, throwing his bowl of cereal across the room over the head of our Mentors and denting a wall in his room with his fist. I was scared of him then, he just wasn't the same boy I had giggled with in the Chariots just the night prior. After that I stayed well away from hi, well until yesterday at least.

I'm not exactly sure what brought me to approach him after seeing him so mad on the last day of Training. Desperation maybe? Fear that the Capitol would get bored with me if I didn't do anything. The thought of dying at the mercy of some sort of mutt that would tear me up and eat me piece by piece. I shiver at the thought of some of the mutts I have seen the tributes come across in the Hunger Games I remember seeing. I would rather die by someone's blade than by a mutt. That much I'm certain of.

Toriton and I pass by another set of closed doors and I resist the urge to peek in. It could be a haven for us, a safe place to stay for a little bit. Well a safe place for me at least. Toriton, well he can't be safe. Not if I want to keep my body the way it is, alive and not devoured by mutts. The Capitol wants me to be a killer, and they`re going to get their wish if I can help it. I want to live, that should be enough to justify what I`m going to do tonight.

I know my parents must miss me, they have to, right? I'm their baby girl, no matter that I'm not a baby anymore. They love me the most, more than Krissie could ever be loved, because I was their favourite. Even if they didn't show it as much anymore it has to be true, they have to love me just as much as before the new baby came. Before another child took up their time and energy. It must be true. It _has _to be true.

Ever since Krissie came I never got enough attention. After seven years in the spotlight, the perfect child. The entertainer, the cutie-pie, the _everything_; for seven, whole years and then within a few days that`s all taken away. Mom and Dad didn`t have enough time to come walk me home from school anymore or take me to the store with then. They needed to take care of the baby, they would tell me every time I`d ask, and I would pout and cry like the little girl I was. But they never noticed, they would tell me they were busy and walk away from me! It was almost as if they didn`t love me anymore, but I held onto the hope that it was just because they were busy. That as soon as Krissie could feed and clothe herself that all the attention and love would come back to me. I would be the star of the family again.

But it never happened.

Years went by, I turned eight, ten, twelve, fourteen, fifteen, and still I was ignored. I begged for their attention every day, brought them books home from school and ask them to read to me to which they would reply I was old enough to read alone. I knew that, but it wasn`t the help that I craved it was the love. The knowing that they cared enough to spend time with me and loved me enough to read to me despite my age. I would get in trouble at school just so they would call my parents and have them come and talk to me, because even when they yelled and punished me at least they were seeing me.

My sister Krissie learned to pain in school, and so I learned to paint from the teachers too. I practiced and practiced, bringing home countless amounts of paper and pictures to practice with and to show my parents. They would tell me it was beautiful and pat me on the back, but then Krissie would come and show them one of her disgusting scribbles and they would praise and congratulate her before hanging it on the fridge, casting my picture aside like trash. It wasn`t fair, but I would keep trying. Look for ways I could excel and beat my sister. Crush her like a bug beneath my shoe for stealing away my parents and making them forget me.

I hated my sister. I still do and I always will. She is the reason I never felt good enough, the reason I had to fight for my parents affections. I hated her so much that I often wished she was dead. I would sit in my bed and wish that something would happen to her so that I could have my parents back. As horrible as it sounds I hated her that much.

And now I`m stuck fighting a different battle, though it feels the same in some sense to me. I`m competing for the spotlight again, not with my sister but with the remaining tributes. Not for the affections of my parents but for the mercy of the Capitol.

* * *

**Kiera Maaz, 16, District Seven**

I see them, around the corner of the dim hallway that I have been walking down for what feels like too long. A girl and a boy, the boy notably bigger than the girl, neither of them with more than a meager backpack. The only weapon I can see is the oddly shaped knife in the boy's hand. The girl has nothing, nothing as far as I can tell.

I look down at the thick knife in my own hand, dulled already with the rusty color of dried blood. The blood of the girl from Nine that I killed in the Bloodbath, she too had been helpless, vulnerable to the knife I had swiped from the Cornucopia before anyone else had even reached it. I feel a sense of guilt at killing someone as small as her, but she would have died sooner than later and there are much worse ways to go. A knife in the head is quick, probably relatively painless as she would have died before she even had a chance to finish her last breath. That's the only condolence I can take in killing her, she didn't suffer more than she had to. She never had to witness the carnage that would take place after the Bloodbath had ceased. She died as innocent as I could keep her. I wasn't right in doing it, but in a way I could argue that I was.

Maybe this is how the Careers justify their own actions? By telling themselves that they are in the right no matter the people they kill or the methods they use.

No, because they are monsters. They don't care enough to tell themselves that they are right. They kill because it's in their blood to do so. I make these justifications because I am still human, I still know what I am doing is wrong and must make amends to keep myself sane. I'm different from the Careers, I am. I could never be like them, not in any way other than the fact that both us of breath to survive.

The pair in front of me continue to move as I watch them with an intent stare. Can I really kill again? I have to. It doesn't matter whether or not I want to, I _need _to. I need to live and to live I must kill, others must die so that I can go home. It's not right, but when has anything, especially the Hunger Games, ever been right?

I take a step around the corner only to see the pair about to disappear around the next corner. The second they are nearly out of view I run with quiet steps to the edge of the corner and peer around it. Luckily enough, the girl stands just a few feet from my nose, her brown hair swishing across her back as she walks just behind her ally.

Without another second of hesitation, Ireach out with one arm and grab her mouth roughly pulling her towards me with one big yank. I catch her by surprise and it takes her a moment to react to the quick movement, and by then the knife is already lodged in her windpipe. The boy turns around hastily and his eyes nearly bulge out of his head when he sees me holding his ally, her hands clasped around the knife in her neck in a hopeless effort to dislodge it and stem the flowing blood. I drop her when I see the look in the male's eyes change from shock to blood-red rage.

The boy leaps at me with the knife in his hand aiming straight at my head. I duck out of the way and he falls flat on his face, his knife becoming stuck in the floor. As he grapples with the handle, trying to pull it out of the carpet I stumble over to where the boy's ally lays on the ground, still struggling with the knife in her throat. I flinch and grab at the blade, trying to get it out of her neck. She thrashes around and makes it nearly impossible but I manage to grab the handle, pulling it out of her. I think she tries to scream but blood gurgles in her mouth blocking off any sound from escaping. Blood spits on me as the knife slides out of her neck and I shudder at the warm, sticky feeling on my face.

A cry escapes my mouth but it is drowned out by the sudden cannon blast and when I look back to the girl she is still. Her eyes half closed and blood steadily flowing out of the hole in her throat. If I didn't know any better I would think her eyes were still watching me, her pupils concentrating on me with accusation. Asking me why, why I did this to her. Making me feel the knot of guilt form in my stomach more blood runs from her lips and down her cold face.

Our gaze only breaks when I feel a sharp pain in my back, followed by the sticky, warm feeling of something running down my skin. I turn around painfully to see the boy standing behind me with wild eyes, his lips narrow with rage. His image becomes blurry and I suddenly feel faint. I fall to my side and the room spins around me, nothing in focus and everything a sickly red color. The pain in my back resides and a heavy feeling comes over my head, forcing it to the ground.

"You killed her," I hear a pained male voice spit from above me and I try and look towards the direction of the voice. But I cannot seem to find it, everything is just blended together. I try to speak, to say something to the voice but the only thing that escapes my throat is warm, metallic liquid that drips down my cheeks and onto the ground. The room around me begins to grow dark, so dark that I cannot even see the red splotches of the walls and blood.

White suddenly overcomes me and I feel, nothing. Nothing but numbness that has taken over my entire body and left me with a feeling of calm. There's no more blood, only white. No more weapons, onlya blank canvas. I'm not there anymore, I'm here.

The last thought that spins through my mind is, _I'm not like them because they are not free._

* * *

**Callena Martis, 17, District One **

Night falls quickly here, the light in the dirty windows suddenly becomes darkness and the dimness of the room becomes overwhelming. It's quiet, almost peaceful but also foreboding. There were three cannons today making me three steps closer to becoming Victor. They always said I would never make it, but I'm going to prove them wrong. All the people that doubted someone could get through the Games without being a beast without feelings. I'm not big, I'm not even that strong. But, I'm tough. I'm smart too. I know what to do and when to do it.

The others wanted to kill Jax and I agreed. But I never agreed with it, Jax was a good leader, much better than either Faye or Maxon could ever hope to be. But they couldn't see that, all they could see was the green curtain of envy that clouded their judgement and made them stupid. I'm not stupid, though. I know what's going on but I don't fight it. Fighting it would get me nowhere but an early grave. A spot alongside my district partner in the graveyard across the way from the Training Academy. That's not what I want, though. I want to be in that Training Academy for the rest of my life, a constant reminder to the trainers that told me I would never make it. I've something to prove, something to win for. Nobody has the drive that I do and therefore I have an advantage. One will always fight harder when they have something on the line.

Look at Faye, look at Maxon. They have no drive, nothing to keep them from keeling over under the blade of my weapon other than pride. All Careers have pride, that much is obvious to anyone who has ever had the pleasure of meeting one of us. But drive is different, drive brings you to do the things that you would never do but pride stands in the way of that. Pride makes Careers act stupidly, causes them to make dumb mistakes like attempt to kill a large threat by themselves to show they can do it. Drive makes you seek out and exploit opportunities to gain the upper hand. Drive makes you smart, pride makes you stupid. I have drive while the other three, they have pride and that will be their downfall.

My eyes meet Caddis' from across the mouth of the Cornucopia and he smiles slightly at me. Caddis is something else altogether, he doesn't seem to act like the other two girls or even like Vulcan and Jax used to act in Training. He just seems different and that both intrigues me and frightens me. It could mean he might be willing to help me, or it could mean he is just weaker than the others, with neither pride nor drive to pull him forward. If it's the first than it would be wise of me to enlist him but if it's the second than that could mean that someone is already controlling him.

I look around for Maxon or Faye and both of them are further inside the Cornucopia, fast asleep and snoring amidst the many boxes and backpacks. I scoot myself over to where Caddis is and motion to him to join me outside of the Cornucopia. He looks sort of skeptical at first but gets up and joins me a minute later.

"What do you think of the new setup?" I whisper and watch as he leans towards me in order to hear my words. He shrugs but says nothing in response and I try again. "Who do you think will be our new leader."

Caddis looks around with paranoia and then leans in so close to my face that I can feel his warm breath on my ear. "They're splitting it, they want two groups with one leader for each."

"Did they ask you already?" I hiss and feel my blood begin to boil. They think it will be that easy, just pick one of me and Caddis and tell us what to do from now on? I don't think so, not now and not anytime soon will I take orders from either of them. Caddis nods and lightly bites his lower lip as if in deep thought. He looks around for good measure and continues.

"They told me I'm with Faye, you're with Maxon."

"Oh really," I say, unable to hide the annoyance in my voice. "Who says we're going to play along?"

"What choice do we have?" Caddis breaths and I smile up at him, an idea forming in my mind already.

"More choice than you think, Caddis."

Caddis just looks at me with a sort of look that tells me he thinks he's said too much and I only smile. There's no getting out of the Caddis, we're partners now. If you resist I only have to drop the word to his "leader" of what he is planning to do. He's trapped now, no way out. This is just the opportunity I've been waiting for, it's time for someone new to start pulling the string and I think I meet the qualifications.

They think they can control me, but they don't even know what I'm capable of.

* * *

_**Jax Cutrialy, District One**_

_**Miram Rivett, District Five**_

_**Kiera Maaz, District Seven**_

* * *

**The artist theme for this story will be **_**Three Days Grace.**_

**Song: **_**Bully**_

* * *

**The blog for this story can be found on my profile. Deaths will be notified here.**

* * *

**I am terribly sorry to the creators that have lost their tributes, I do hope that you will stick around to see the progression of the story. If not then that is okay too and I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. Characters were killed based on personality, storyline and of course whether or not their creator reviewed. Hopefully no hard feelings if your character is gone.**

* * *

**From now on, a question or two will be asked at the end of each chapter which I would love for you to answer, and I also ask for a general review on my writing as well, if you would be so kind**.

_**Do you think the Careers can get it together or will they continue to fall?**_

_**What do you think Callena's plan will be?**_

* * *

**I'm so sorry Immy for killing Miram, I thought she was an amazing character and one of my favourites to write, but I just felt like her plot line would have suffered should I kept her for any longer. I will miss her so much!**

**I honestly thought it had only been just over a week since I'd updated but apparently I cannot count because it was actually over two weeks. So yeah, awkward apology here for taking so damn long but I hope you guys aren't too mad at me. Also this really doesn't feel like a strong chapter for me, so I'm sorry about that as well. Hopefully the next one will be better!**


	12. Hang Over Me

**Someone Who Cares by Three Days Grace**

Am I to blame?  
When the guilt and the shame  
Hang over me

* * *

**Dove Uppercut, 18, District Ten**

I can hear whispers around me but they don't make any sense. I mean, I know there are things being said but none of them make words. Not any kind of words that I can make at least. But someone's talking, that I know for sure. They've been talking since the pain began and didn't stop when the pain ceased as I thought they would. They kept on talking, talk, talk, talking. I don't like hearing all this sound, I just want to sleep. But I don't want them to stop, because at least I can tell I'm still alive as long as I can hear them.

There's something wrong with me, I know that. No one is this tired all the time, not even a tribute in the Hunger Games. I've been tired since someone carried me here all those days ago and lay me down to sleep. I did sleep, but not a good, healthy sleep. More one that is not restful. I always slept, I think, but I never felt any more energized. A sleep that isn't restful, or maybe even a sleep that didn't exist at all. Maybe I've been awake this whole time that would explain why I am so tired.

Sometimes I felt someone touch my face, but I never knew if anyone was even there at all. My head had hurt so bad then that I didn't even want to open my eyes, and now that the pain isn't there anymore I have found that I can't. I don't feel in control of my body anymore. I can't make myself move. I can't open my eyes or even move my mouth to speak. I just lie here in a place that I cannot picture because I have not seen. Sit here with memories flowing through my mind that I think might be true but could very well be something else that has happened from my injuries.

Most of the time I see a pair of people, a man and a woman that I think could be married. The man always hold the woman as if she is very upset and cannot hold herself upright. I oftentimes see the man look up at me and give a half-smile, though I know it can't be me he is smiling at because I am not in my dream. It must be someone behind my field of view that he is smiling at, since I know he can't possibly see me, could he?

Sometimes I saw one of the two people separated in the dreams, and they were always with a little boy with black hair and pale skin. If it was the man they would be doing something that looked like so much fun, running through dirt streets after one another, hiding behind trees and in little huts as the other searched for them, looking up at the sky as the clouds passed by with awe in their eyes. If the little boy was with the woman they did other things, the woman would tell the boy stories as he fell asleep, they would cook or bake together, once I even saw them laughing as they splashed each other with water while washing the floors. These were the good dreams, the little boy and the two adults always looked so happy. They looked like their own, warm family. When I saw them together I always felt a rush of happiness, a surge of warmth that filled me upon seeing the tiny family.

Later though, as I found myself still unable to wake, I dreamed of other things. I dreamed that the boy was older now, a teenager, and the two adults were older too. Even in the tight images I could see the age on their faces, the wrinkles on the edges of their eyes and lips. The deeper creases in their foreheads. The boy was bigger now, towering over the woman and just an inch shorter than the man.

In these dreams they were always yelling silent, voiceless things at each other. I never heard what any of them said but the redness of their cheeks and the fire in their eyes told me that none of them were happy. Many times I saw the boy come home and slam the door on the adults faces as he entered his bedroom. Many times I saw the man and boy yelling through closed doors when the boy refused to come out. I saw the man working outside by himself and the woman cooking alone, the boy in his room with a book or a pen and paper. I began to long for these moments that came between the yelling and tension, they were peaceful if not sad. At least they all seemed kind of calm in their solitude. None of them looked happy, but all of them were calm when they were alone.

I feel a rush of calmness come over myself as the boy and the man go to their respective rooms for the night. The rooms are darker than I remember, the figures just mere outlines that I can sort of recognize. It's strange that it's getting dark there, it never gets dark there. It is always light from what I've seen. Always.

In the kitchen I see the woman washing pots and pans as quietly as she can so that she doesn't wake anyone. I can see the age and wear on her face but there's something else there too. Despair? Yes that's it, despair. I don't understand it, she never looked like that before. I see the outline of a tear drop down her face, spreading through her wrinkled skin. She drops the pan she had been scrubbing and walks up to the boy's door, opening it slowly and quietly.

When she reaches his bed, she crouches to her knees and lays a hand on his pale face. He doesn't stir, dead to her as he sleeps in his own world so far from her. She cries more tears, staining the sheet on which he sleeps, but still he does not wake. The last thing I see is her stretching herself towards him, leaning in to plant a gentle kiss on his forehead. Then the scene fades and for the first time I am left with nothing but darkness.

I feel like the boy in my dream, asleep to the world.

Gone.

Dead.

* * *

**Alpine Deerden, 17, District Seven**

I rouse myself awake to the sound of a booming cannon. Beside me, Cain gasps loudly as he sits up and I look at him with concern. The feeling in my gut squeezing my insides until I feel like I can't breathe anymore.

No matter how many times I hear the cannon blast I can never get over the sound. The telltale boom that lets all still alive know that one more body has joined the pile of corpses ready to be sent back to their grieving families. But this time the feeling is worse. Almost as if my body knows something that my brain has not yet figured out.

I don't notice that Cain has gotten up until he has already moved over to where Dove lay fast asleep. That's how he has been the days since the initial Bloodbath. Comatose. A state where we are unable to rouse him and unable to move from the room for fear that he will be found vulnerable. Both of us know we could make it out of here and find ourselves a new temporary home away from the liability that our ally has become, but neither of us have the courage, or maybe lack thereof, to speak the words. We can't just abandon him. No matter how much better it makes our chances for survival.

My throat contracts and I gulp for breath when I notice what Cain is doing. He holds two pale fingers to Dove's neck, feeling for a pulse that I hope beyond anything will be there. His hand moves laterally around his neck until finally they are lifted with a slight shake of the head from my ally. Without any words being exchanged between the two of us I know what he has confirmed to me. Dove is dead, his injuries finally took him.

Cain appears frozen, his lips stuck in a half open formation that I can feel present on my own lips. Neither of us moves a muscle, one last attempt to preserve what was left of our three-man alliance that has just lost a member. Finally I feel a hand grasp onto my forearm and I am yanked upwards without warning. Cain doesn't even look me in the eyes as he trails me behind him through the door and into the hallway. Without so much as a backward glance we leave our fallen ally. Not even a goodbye for fear that we would never be able to leave him.

I wrestle my arm from his tightening grasp and he barely seems to notice, remaining many steps ahead of me and forcing me to half skip to keep up with his strides. I hear a loud sniffle from ahead but say nothing. Cain and Dove were always closest to each other. I was always just that much out of their circle of friendship and I could never understand what Cain is feeling. I cannot begin to think that a person can feel more regret than what I am feeling right now.

I should have helped him back at the Bloodbath. He would have escaped with less impact and I would likely have a few bruises myself but neither of us would be dead. The Career girl couldn't have hurt either of us as badly is there would have been two. But, like the human being I am, I ignored him. Stayed in the shadows like a coward. And now he's dead.

And I almost feel, _glad? _

One less competitor for me. One less person for me to worry about backstabbing me later on. I never even wanted an alliance, but here I am. Wouldn't it just be easier to leave now, while I still have my body in full working order. Before he has a chance to backstab me. But it's easier to be with him than it would be to be alone. I have a backpack, half of our supplies, but could I really count on myself to keep me alive?

Cain drops to the ground in front of me and I nearly trip over his curled body. Instead I kick him roughly in the side and he doesn't even appear to notice. "Cain what are you doing, we can't stay out here it's dangerous."

He doesn't hear me, and if he does he just doesn't respond. I watch as his entire body convulses with sobs and for the first time I witness how much he and Dove really cared for each other. I stand here without a tear in my eye to shed for my dead ally while Cain has dropped to the ground in tears. Am I turning into a monster? Not even caring about the people that have died so that I could have a chance to live.

"Cain," I try again, dropping my voice so that anyone nearby might not hear us. I latch my fingers onto his arm and he tenses immediately. "You have to get up."

"Get the fuck out of my face!" He yells at me and rips his arm away from me, standing up and nearly knocking me over. I'm at a loss for words as he lashes out at me with his fist, connecting easily with my nose and making my world spin. I fall to the ground and feel warm liquid trickle down my chin. My vision is blurry and when I try to stand up I nearly fall back down, grabbing onto the wall for support. "I said, get away from me!"

I put my hands up defensively and tense myself for another punch. Nothing comes though and I look in the direction I think he was in. When my vision steadies I am able to make out Cain disappearing into the room directly across from where I stand. I consider following it but hesitate. He has a knife in that pack, and Panem only knows what else. He could kill me right now, and by the punch he just delivered I wouldn't put it past him. The guy's grieving, and it would be in my best interest not to be in the hitting zone.

So instead of walking in the room to comfort my ally I sling the backpack back over my shoulder and walk in the opposite direction, passing the room we had since shared with Dove. Like the coward I am becoming I take the easy way out. Again.

* * *

**Enya Hale, 15, District Ten**

I walk aimlessly through the dimming hallways of the arena, my feet aching from overuse and fatigue beginning to take over my body. Since Geare's gruesome death I haven't been able to bring myself to sleep. Between fear of what my dreams will show me and fear of being found while I rest, the whole thing just seems impossible. And so I walk, continuously. Endlessly.

Part of me wishes that my ally were still here, and yet part of me is glad that he is dead. He was so young, only a senior to the little girl from Eight. He didn't deserve to experience this, this _game. _But he didn't deserve death, none of us do. That's where I'm torn now. Is it better to die and save yourself the anguish but guarantee your life will be lost, or to live and fight through everything that will be thrown at you with the knowledge that you could very well die anyway. I am leaning towards the latter. I don't think there is any way I could give in and allow my life to be taken from me, I would rather have the chance to fight for my survival.

Except I don't feel like fighting anymore.

I realize that I have been leaning into the wall when a corner appears and I slip to the ground. My eyes find the strength to open after just a few seconds, though I would give anything to be able to just close them without worry for my life, even for just a few minutes. But I know I can't, at least not here. I look up to the wall above me and see something that stops my heart altogether.

The face of my district partner, bloody and maimed, is contained within a red tainted frame. He turns to me with a crooked smile, the left half of his face missing entirely and I scream. A loud, blood curdling scream that echoes through the hallway and returns back to my ears at a frightening volume. Suddenly my fatigue is lost, adrenaline forcing me to my feet and allowing me to run as fast as my feet can carry me towards the end of the hallway.

I slam into the side of a wall, my breaths fast and raspy and a new pain developing in my side from sprinting. I look around the room I didn't know I had entered and find it free of anything but golden picture frames and soft carpets. I hear the door slam behind me and I whimper at the sound, my head still pounding from before. My eyes shift around the room carefully, searching for any sign of something that could hurt me. They glaze over a framed painting of a farmer holding a pitchfork and I lock with his cartooned eyes. From the left-looking position, the farmer's eyes shift straight ahead to stare at me and I scream again, this time not stopping as a triple pronged fork shoots out of the wall from the painting. Aiming directly at my head.

I duck just in time to avoid being speared and the weapon embeds itself in the wall behind me. I can feel my heart pounding a mile a minute and I remain pressed to the ground, unwilling to move for fear of another attack.

I don't even see the next one until it is just a few feet from my nose. I throw myself to the ground from my sitting position and just miss being impaled once again. By now I can't even muster up the strength to scream, instead from my mouth escapes tiny whimpers so small that I can barely hear them myself. Another pitchfork flies from the wall and I roll out of the way in time to avoid it once again, sniffling with tears streaming down my cheeks as I crawl towards the adjacent wall in hopes that they will not reach me over there.

"Enya," a voice whispers and I find myself unable to breathe. I crane my neck to look in the direction of it, despite the protests in my body telling me not to. Looking directly above me I can see the edge of a picture frame, crimson in color just like the one in the hallway. Above the swirls and carvings I see the broken eyes of Dove Uppercut, maimed and torn from every surface just like the last image I saw. I remind myself it's not him, it can't really be him because Dove is still alive. His face was not one of those in the sky last night, nor in the nights previous. Dove is alive, I soothe myself, he`s alive I just know it.

I bring my hands up to wipe the tears from my eyes, forcing myself to move even as I feel frozen in fear. But what I see makes my blood run cold. The cuffs of my uniform, bloody and dripping to replace the color they used to hold. I think back to after the Bloodbath, when I saw Geare`s sleeves take on the same appearance. Right after his district partner had died.

Dove is dead. And he is talking to me.

"Enya," he coos again though his voice sounds as hard as nails. "You don't have to be afraid of me. I won't hurt you. But the others will, they're here and they're coming for you. If you want to live, you will find them first. Kill them first."

* * *

**Fuze Lypton, 16, District Three**

I get the feeling that I am falling and that shakes me awake. My body is on full alert, the dream having scared me into action that didn't need to be taken. A rush of calm washes over me when I realize I am exactly where I had been before I fell asleep, an empty room full of pictures. I never thought I would ever be glad to find myself in this place. Falling off a cliff is worse than being in an arena, but only just. Still though, the calmness reaches me until it is replaced by the feeling that something is missing.

_Wyre!_

My eyes scan the room for just mere seconds before I am on my feet and running out of the open door that marks the exit of the room. My feet pound against the carpet of the hallway and my head turns from side to side as I dash down the corridor. When I run out of breath I stop, my palms sliding down to my knees as I try and catch my breath.

_Where is she? _

A shrill scream causes my blood to run cold. There is only one girl that comes to mind that could possibly form this childish, terrifying sound. Wyre. I run as fast as I can, despite being out of breath, towards the sound until my eyes catch an open doorway. Just as I run through the arch another chilling scream cuts through the air and two figures run past me, the male knocking me to the ground. He turns around to look at me with wide eyes before taking off after the girl he is with, an empty bow swinging in one hand as he runs.

I scramble to my feet and fall into the dim room. My heart stops when I see a figure lying down on the floor. As I get closer I see the dark hair of my district partner and her eyes are wide open, scared but alive. I run and kneel down beside her, placing my hand on her shoulder to turn her towards me.

I feel bile begin to rise in my throat when I flip her towards me, there in one side of her chest an arrow is planted up to the shaft. Wyre turns towards me with the same wide eyes that had just moments ago relieved me. Now they haunt me and even though I will my body to do something it refuses to move. All I do is stare down at her shaking body as darkened blood drips onto the carpet.

She coughs softly and red begins to fall from her lips and onto the collar of her shirt. She looks up at me, her eyes now focused and alert unlike I had seen them since the Launch. I throw the backpack from my shoulder and dig inside for something, anything I can use to save her. I come up with a roll of thick gauze and I hold my breath and close my eyes, pulling the arrowhead messily from her flesh. I swallow the vomit threatening to escape my mouth and open my eyes to see Wyre staring up at me, her eyes now squinted in pain. I begin to unroll the gauze but her tiny hand reaches up and stops me.

"I can fix you," I whimper, pulling the gauze away and trying to unroll it with trembling fingers. "You're going to be okay, I can fix you."

I realize I'm crying when I look over to her once more and parts of her are blurry. Her own eyes are too lined with liquid and she catches my gaze, holding it for as long as I can stand before she shakes her head with a whimper of pain. Tears slide down her pale skin and her hand reaches to the pocket of her white shirt, pulling something out that I can't see. The roll drops from my hand and I drop my head onto her stomach, salty tears coating my cheeks through silent sobs.

I promised that I would keep her alive and then I left her alone. I let her down, I let down her family, I let down our district. I feel a chilly hand rest on the top of my head and I clutch it like a lifeline, as if it were me that were dying, not her. I wish it were me dying. If it meant she would live I would die. I knew that before I even came into this place. I wanted her to win, even if it meant my own death. She deserved to win, she had so much to live for and I'm not sure if I do.

A cannon sounds and I press my face further into her still warm body, my hand still clutching hers in comfort that never helped anyone. I will myself to pull my head off of her and as I do her eyes bore into me with a new wave of guilt. It's not fair. She shouldn't have to die in this horrible place, she's just a kid. All of us are just kids. My fingertips slide across her eyelids, shutting them softly and wiping the line of tearstains that runs down her cold cheeks.

My eyes linger over her still body, knowing that I should leave so that she can be taken out of here and shipped back to the district but for some reason not wanting to leave her. Something shiny catches in my still blurry vision and my eyes move to my district partner's half-open hand. Gently I open it all the way, retrieving a long silver chain with a locket on the end from her hand.

I move the chain through my hands, considering for a moment wearing it so that I can keep a part of her with me. I know though that this must have been special to her for her to remember it at this time. I bring it up to my lips and kiss it softly before pulling it over her hair for it to sit beautifully on her chest. As I rise to my feet I pull her hands onto her stomach to cover the ugly wound that breaks the innocent perfection of her body. Then I leave her, stepping numbly out of the doorway whispering a last goodbye to my partner, ally, and friend.

* * *

**Amaran Luminera, 18, District Twelve **

I can't stop running as I flash through the hallways of the arena. I can't even will myself to look back to see if Noeah is following me or if he has somehow gotten lost. It all just happened so quickly, I just want to run. Run because I don't know what to think and perhaps if I run far enough I can get away from it all.

She came out of nowhere, well not exactly nowhere but neither of us had expected anything to enter through a closed door. Somehow our minds had made the connection between closed doors and safety, even though common sense dismissed that theory entirely if you really thought about it. But the girl walked in all the same and both of us panicked. I started to gather our things but Noeah froze, froze that is until the girl took another step towards us. Then an arrow flew and she was on the ground, Noeah and I already on our way out the door.

I throw open a door and run inside, throwing myself to the floor in a heap of sheer exhaustion. Noeah runs in a few seconds behind me and throws himself against the door to close it. He slides to the ground and buries his face in his hands, shoulders shaking from sobs that I cannot hear. I want to move to comfort him, but instead I stay frozen. The memory of the girl falling in front of me too fresh in my mind for me to give any sympathy or warmth.

Noeah mumbles something and I can't understand what has been said. I scoot across the floor to get a few feet closer to him and ask him to repeat himself. He does but I still understand nothing so I move closer, now sitting directly in front of him.

"I didn't mean to kill her," he hisses between tears. "I'm not a monster."

I lay a hand on his knee and lean in towards him. "You're not, I know that. Your family knows that. She was stupid to come in."

"I _killed _her, Amaran," he whimpers, head rising from his hands and eyes meeting mine. This time though instead of indifference I see pain; undeniable, grieving, pain. "I killed a little girl that did nothing to me. I killed her."

"That's what we're supposed to do," I gulp, not knowing what else to say. "If you hadn't, someone else would have."

"That doesn't make it okay," his eyes squint shut and more tears fall from behind his closed lids.

"I never said it did."

A long silence comes and I remove my hand from his knee, pulling closer to him and enveloping him into my arms. His head rests on my shoulder and he tears come freely now. He's right, it's not okay. None of this is okay. But we're not supposed to say it isn't, not in here. We're supposed to pretend everything is alright even when our entire worlds are falling apart around us. Twenty-three lives for the price of one, that statement finally sinks in. It's not just a phrase anymore, it's my reality. These aren't just faces on television that had no significance, I've met these people. I know their names, for some of them I know their stories. Noeah's right, none of this is okay and killing each other will never feel okay to us. But there's nothing we can do about that. We have to pretend, or we have to die.

"I don't want to do this anymore," I hear him whisper in my ear, his breath warming my neck as he speaks.

"I know," I whisper back and softly stroke his hair as he cries into my shoulder. There's nothing we can do to get out of here except die, and I'm not ready to die yet. And I don't think I'm ready to lose another ally yet either. "But you will."

"Why?" His voice is now below a whisper, so quiet that I think I must only be able to hear it within my mind.

"Because I'm not ready to lose you yet," I admit.

He lifts his head to look at me and I shy away from his eyes for the first time. He takes my chin in his cupped hand and tilts my chin up towards him, pushing his lips gently into mine. It only lasts a second but it tells me everything I need to know. In here, I am not alone. He is with me, he has always been with me. And I will do everything I can not to let him get taken away from me.

* * *

_**Dove Uppercut, District Ten**_

_**Wyre Felix, District Three**_

* * *

**The artist theme for this story will be **_**Three Days Grace.**_

**Song: **_**Someone Who Cares**_

* * *

**The blog for this story can be found on my profile. Deaths will be notified here.**

* * *

**I am terribly sorry to the creators that have lost their tributes, I do hope that you will stick around to see the progression of the story. If not then that is okay too and I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. Characters were killed based on personality, storyline and of course whether or not their creator reviewed. Hopefully no hard feelings if your character is gone. **

**From now on, a question or two will be asked at the end of each chapter which I would love for you to answer, and I also ask for a general review on my writing as well, if you would be so kind.**

**_Who do you want to make the final eight? Who do you _not _want to make it? (Hint, there are now 11 tributes left)._**

* * *

**I am really, really sorry to Acereader55. I absolutely adored Wyre even though many people did not really understand her. I felt like she was one of the most realistic characters I have ever developed and I am really disappointed that it didn't come off as that to the readers. She was a young girl caught in a place where she saw numerous people die, I thought it made sense that she wouldn't be entirely...you know, right in the mind? Nonetheless, I adored her and will miss writing her. **

**Hopefully the little romance between Noeah and Amaran isn't random to you. It will be further touched on in chapters to come, but basically they have been through a lot together. Let's just leave a few surprises okay.**

**So sorry this took basically forever... Computer problems.**


	13. Refusing to Go Down

**Riot by Three Days Grace**

You're not the only one  
Refusing to go down

You're not the only one

So get up

* * *

**Toriton Aszero, 15, District Five**

I think I should feel something, but right now it's almost as if I'm beyond feeling anything at all.

Since I was extremely young I have always felt something, some sort of emotion intensified until it was burned into me and became all I could react with. I knew they were intensified, because other people didn't look like they felt anything as much as I felt everything. I was never merely content, I was overjoyed. I could never be irritated, I would instead be filled with rage beyond anything that could be conquered. I never remember feeling blue, just overwhelming sadness.

I learned from my parents that emotions are supposed to be your brain's reaction to different events. You feel anger when someone does or says something offensive towards you. You feel happiness when you accomplish something or see something that could be classified as joyous. You feel grief or sadness when you experience something that leaves an empty space in you. But I never felt things the way I was taught I was supposed to. My emotions never had much of a cause, they just were.

Right now I did not feel sadness like I think I am supposed to feel. I feel, nothing. No anger, depression, happiness, nothing. It's strange, to say the least, but also soothing to my mind. For once I do not have uncontrollable urges to feel things that I know shouldn't be present. For once I do not feel these false, intense emotions. For once I really feel like myself, I feel like a normal kid. Or at least what I would expect being a normal kid would feel like.

Strange isn't it? Finally when my life seems to match the intense emotions, they stop coming. Funny how when everything is spiralling out of control, I can feel so calm and, well, normal.

Movement comes before I can begin to realize what's happening. I am able to just move out of the way to avoid a knife cutting right down my skull. Instead, I cry out in pain as a thick blade runs its way down my shoulder, spraying blood on my dirty-white uniform and onto the wall behind me. I hit the floor hard and my hand flies to my shoulder to stall the flowing blood. I roll painfully out of the way of another spear and I grunt with the effort. My breaths are heavy now, a result of the painful slash across my shoulder, and I squirm on my stomach towards the door. A hiss in my ear alerts me to another object whizzing over my head and I press my face into the floor to become as flat as possible. I just need to get out, get out and assess the damage. Get out and do...something.

I risk a look upwards and see that the door is just a few feet from my head. I push myself back down onto the ground, freeing the arm that had been pressed to my shoulder in order to pull myself along the ground more quickly. I'm right there, I just need to get to the door. I'm not going to die like this, not so soon. I want to live, I want to feel normal for more than just a few hours. I want to finally see who I am beyond the raging moods. I just want to live, please, please, let me live.

My head bangs against the wooden door so hard that my vision goes blurry for a few seconds. I try and stumble to my feet but my mind spins with impact. My hand feels up the door as far as I can reach from my knees and a wave of hope crashes over me when my hand hits cold metal and I throw the door open as quickly as I can. I fall out of the door with an ungraceful _thud _and I collapse my head into my hands with relief. I'm still alive, for now I am alive. For just a little longer I have at least I have a chance. That's all I can ask for.

I remove my hands from my face when my head stops spinning and I realize I had been crying, my palms and fingers coated with moisture. I wipe off my face and lift myself up with one arm, grunting in pain when I remember the knife cut on the inside of my shoulder. I use my other arm to get myself to my knees and rip off the sleeve of my uniform on the injured arm. Gritting my teeth, I tie the fabric as tightly as I can bear around the wound and then around my back to tie just above my opposite hip. It's not perfect, it hurts like nothing I have ever felt before, but I'm alive. I'll live and that's all that matters to me right now.

"Toriton?" The sudden whisper makes my blood run cold as I move my head to look up the wall across from me. "Why did you let me die, Toriton? I just wanted you to protect me."

Suddenly my entire body feels numb, none of the pain that I had before is present. Only the heavy beating of my heart is able to be felt throughout my body. I rise to my feet as quickly as I dare and face the image head on. The image of the girl that I thought had died days ago.

My mind is playing tricks on me. Of course she's dead. I heard the cannon, I saw the blood, I called her name to no avail. Miram's dead, she's dead. But I can't help but look at the twisted, bloody image of her and remember when she was living. When her face wasn't bruised or covered in red.

Suddenly she shrieks and I fall to my knees, arms ripping through my homemade sling to cover my ears. It's the most horrifying sound I have ever heard in my life. The scream of a dying child that I saw die days ago. A re-enactment of everything my nightmares are made of.

"Please," I whimper. "Please leave me alone. I tried to save you. Please, I tried, don't hurt me."

* * *

**Faye Darson, 18, District Four**

"You look like you just killed your own brother," I say with just the slightest hint of conviction in my voice. I've noticed this change in Caddis since late last night but I have only now just been able to confront him about it. We're alone now, Maxon and Callena having taken off early to hunt on Maxon's orders. At this point, knowledge of what anyone is thinking could be the difference between life and death. The deciding factor between who will strike first, me or them. It may just be paranoia, but I'd much rather it be just that than my dying a clueless death.

Caddis' head snaps towards me at the sound of my voice and I am barely able to keep the smirk from finding its way to my lips. So he really is scared of me. Who would have thought that the Trainer's favourite, the _perfect _volunteer, the boy who was too good to so much as raise his own hand, would be scared of me. I knew. Of course I did. He has always had the skill to win, not necessarily against me but if I was being honest I would have to say he had a better chance than most at killing me. The thing he lacks most is the very area that I, without a doubt, excel in. Passion. Drive. Confidence. Without that he is nothing but another tribute forced into here to fight for a life they should realize they have already lost.

Without passion he will waver. Without drive he will give up. Without confidence he will second guess himself. If you do any of these things in the arena you die, it's as simple as that. Caddis will die and I will not.

And that's because I'm better than him.

No matter what the trainers thought, no matter that they made him come in here despite his wishes so that he could live up to his full potential, I am better than him. They will see it when I walk out of here at the end of this whole thing. They will never again forget that I beat their favourite, they will never try and tell me that I am not the best. All the proof they could ever need will lay in my victory, and Caddis' death.

"What do you mean?" He asks quickly, sweat visible on his brow. Just by looking at him you can see that he is nervous. Not the usual someone-could-be-plotting-my-death kind of nervous that you become accustomed to seeing in here. No, this is different. More of a I-have-something-to-hide kind of nervous.

"Do you really need to ask what I mean, Caddis?" I drawl, eyelashes fluttering innocently. "I thought we agreed to be honest with each other?"

"Did we?"

"Yes, of course we did. Don't you remember? Around the same time you were telling everyone all about how you planned on volunteering next year?" I say and judging by the look on his face I know I have him. He might be strong, he might be fast, but I know his secret. But I also know that the usefulness of this particular blackmail is being quickly used up. I have to either find a new way to keep him in line, or expire his use altogether. For now, though, I think he'll still be swayed by this. This and the fact that I hold half of his fate in my hands. Maxon and I clearly run things, though they are split just like we agreed. One thing I have learned is that if you act like you have all the power, people will believe you do and you will get the advantage. It's a simple matter of psychology, really. They give you control over them just by believing that you have power over them.

He falls silent but his eyes reveal the inner struggle of reason going on in his mind. I force myself not to smile as wide as I'd like to, but I can't help the slight up curl of my lips as he studies my face for any trace of bluffing. I narrow my eyes slightly as a reminder to him that I am dead serious. I've already confirmed that he knows something I don't, and judging by his hesitation it's something big. If he doesn't let the secret fly, he just may have expired his own usefulness.

Caddis breaks our gaze first and a flash of victory comes to my eyes. "Caddis, tell me what's going on. It's in your best interest to be honest to you alliance. Especially to me."

He swallows hard and keeps his eyes trained on the floor. I move my hand to cover his and he looks up at me with all nerves gone from his eyes. I force my smile to fade and my eyes to express just the slightest hint of fear. Control is one thing that can get Caddis, but if that doesn't work I have to show him someone he can trust. I have to show him a weakness that I don't have. Though honestly it wouldn't be that much of a stretch to say that not knowing what has got Caddis so nervous was making me slightly uncomfortable.

Just when I think I've lost him altogether his eyes meet mine and he speaks, "she's planning something, something big."

"Maxon?" I say instantly. The two of us had a deal, but I would be an idiot not to realize that she might flip it at any moment. It was no secret that the two of us had it out for each other, but I would have thought she would have had more dignity than to try and get rid of me like we did Jax.

He shakes his head slowly, taking in a deep breath before saying anything further. "Callena."

* * *

**Cain Frost, 17, District Eleven**

I never thought I could get so attached to anyone like I got attached to Dove. He and I were friends, no that's not even the right work for it. He was so much closer to me than anyone I call friend. He was like my brother. Someone I saw so much of myself in, someone I was able to really let go and be myself around. Someone that was so good, so deserving of a full life. Someone that I never realized might actually die in this place.

The only other person I have ever allowed myself to let go around was Marina. She was the rock in my life, the one that held me back down when everything in me told me to fly away. I wanted to leave my family, leave my parents, and younger sisters to find something that I didn't even have a name for. I hated being stuck in District Eleven. I hated being the breadwinner of the family. I hated how everything was so boring. I hated it, hated it, hated it.

She was the reason that I stayed. The only one that reminded me of how much my family and I had to lose. Without her I don't know where I would be. I don't know where any of us would be. She was my rock and I was the moss trying to grow.

For a long time I hated her too. I couldn't stand that there was one more thing in my life that had become my responsibility. I just wanted to be who I knew I could grow up to be. Not a married man with a wife, children, and a workload of seventy hours a week. I wanted there to be something else for me out there, even though I knew there was nothing more to find than a life in the fields. Marina saved me from myself and from the ambitions that would have cost my family everything. No matter how much I despised her she stayed with me, no matter how many times I pushed her away she came back. No matter the countless times I yelled profanities, slapped her away, or told her I hated her she stayed with me. Some might call it stupidity, in fact that is exactly what I called it. But later I knew it was love that made her stay, not just for me but for the family I would have left behind.

I never told anyone about wanting to run away. Instead I kept all of that inside me, all those wishes for something more, all those prayers for adventure and danger stayed in my mind but I refused to acknowledge them anymore. I remained the person that my family needed because I began to love her back. Love made me give up myself, but it also made me find myself too, in some backwards kind of way.

Marina made me feel different. And that's how Dove made me feel too. We just got each other, clicked immediately and never looked back. We found fun in a place that was trying to kill us, and amidst that I found myself and I'd like to believe he did too.

Once again I didn't think of my actions, I didn't think that being the fun, free guy would get me killed just like I didn't think of the fact that my sisters would starve without my salary. Neither of us took this seriously while Alpine actually did. That's why I hate him, that's why I sent him away cursing his name and forcing his retreat. Simply because he didn't let us open him up. He was fully aware of himself this entire time while Dove and I got lost in the freedom. Alpine felt nothing when Dove died because he didn't allow himself to know him. Where as I can feel something missing inside me because I was stupid and let it all get to me.

I feel something shift in the room and I lift my head from my knees to have a look around. My eyes carefully scan everything around me but I see nothing out of place. Slowly I begin to lower my head back down to rest my chin on my knees and that's when I see it move. Something in the pictures, one of the bigger ones that looks like a child's painting of a man holding the sides of his face and screaming, _moved_.

My hand moves as slowly as I can, shaking all the while, towards my backpack where I know my knife lies. The front pocket, I just have to unlatch the button and it will be in my hand. Calmly, I don't know what's going on but something inside my gut tells me to get to my weapon and fast.

Suddenly it happens. I scream in terror as I watch something in the painting pop out at me, flying towards the wall above my head. I barely have time to register that the thing coming at high speed towards my head is the sketched man in the picture before it hits me with such force that I am pushed to the floor beneath it.

Sharp claws cut into the skin of my face and I struggle with it for mere seconds before I throw it off me, tossing it to the other wall with as much force as I can. Instead of hitting the wall, the strange man just turns and pushes off of it with his feet and blasts towards me once more. This time though, I have my knife at the ready. His redirection towards me gave me just enough time to pull it out of the front pocket and stick it out towards him. Just as I had hoped, his head hits the knife straight on and I have to duck underneath his body as it flips over itself, dead. It lands atop me and it takes me several tries to get its body off of me.

I stand up as soon as I am able and stumble across the room towards the door, opening it and closing it as soon as I am through. Leaving the strange picture mutt's corpse heaped in the middle of the floor.

* * *

**Noeah Hazurn, 17, District Nine**

I really just don't know what to think anymore. I had promised myself and my family that I would not allow myself to change so that I could have a chance to win. I broke that promise not ten minutes into the start of the Games. I changed into a murderer, someone that took a life to save that of another that I did not know. But it hardly mattered that I felt regret or that I never meant to perform the act in the first place. Who would care that my intentions were not devious, I killed. Just like we are supposed to. Just like I promised I wouldn't.

Again I changed when my own ally tried to kill us. I saw what the Hunger Games does to people like Sedo, what they should be doing to me but aren't. I should be broken like he was and yet for the most part I have remained somewhat sane. Does that make me stronger than him for not allowing myself to fall apart, or weaker because I actually gave in to the pressure of what the Games are trying to make us into.

I changed so much; who was I even before I was Reaped? It seems like that was so long ago that I cannot even remember, even though I know that in reality it has been barely a week and a half. I feel twenty years older than I did back in District Nine. It's funny how much you can note about yourself when you have as much time as I do to analyze everything.

Just yesterday it was that I felt those changes begin to morph again. Not really into total recession but a million times closer to who I think I was before the Hunger Games began. I feel...tender. Gentle. I feel as though I have finally found a way to be good again. As though I have found something that can bring back the person I wish to be again. Something that maybe, possibly, could have more control over me than the President, the Capitol, and Panem combined.

I found someone who understands me.

Amaran and I were never, you know, together. But we always kind of were. Both of us were thrown together by pure circumstance but yet it feels like we were always supposed to find each other somehow. It's not even that I am physically attracted to her, though I most certainly could be if I chose to really look. It's more like an emotional connection that we seemed to have picked up. No one except the two of us has gone through what we have, seen what we have in such disturbingly real detail. A comforting arm by anyone else wouldn't feel fit. If anyone else had held me last night as I cried and told me that they understood I would have never believed them. Amaran, though, truly does understand. Nearly every grave sight I have seen in this arena has been shared by her. Every guilt filled moment has been felt by her and every tear of mine has been matched by her.

I lean over and guide her lulled, sleeping head to my chest. Somehow sleep has the magical quality of taking away all the emotions that a person displays upon awakening and leaving them with only a peaceful, lightened expression. I wonder if she always had the hardened look of the Amaran I have come to know or if she ever did carry this peaceful half-smile around District Twelve. I can't ever remember a time she has smiled without the aged look in her eyes that shows the toll all of this has taken on her. I make it my mission that when she wakes up, I will make her smile. For real though, because I have all the forced smiles I could ever want. I want something real, in a place full of things that are all so fake and dangerous. Just for a second it would be nice to have something that's real and beautiful, something that I can carry with me so that maybe I can smile in the face of death.

I won't kid myself any longer, nor will I create a martyr out of myself. I am not one of those people that will be able to give everything, even their lives, for someone they care about. I won't pretend that I will do everything to keep Amaran safe if it means I will die. Instead I think I will just enjoy my time here as best I can. Maybe I can forget where I am and what I'm really here for, if even just for a minute.

* * *

**Maxon Slate, 17, District Two **

The arena is much larger than I originally thought it was. Of course, before today, I had barely been given the opportunity to go more than a few hallways down from the Career camp. At first out of pure fear when the Career pack lost our initial leader, Vulcan in the Bloodbath. Then when we had all been tucked under the careful thumb of Jax; who did little for the group besides giving us a good enough reason to band together and get rid of his sorry hide. Now I'm free, not answering to anyone but myself. With control over half of the remaining Careers as well as both our shares of the supplies.

Callena is not exactly my choice to have as backup, nor my second, but I guess if need be I can use her to protect myself. Heck, I'm sure if I started running she would be well behind me. I have to say it is comforting to know that if I were to be attacked right now I have a pretty good chance at getting out with my life and a decent head start.

"This way," I grunt. "It's time we go back and take our turn on guard. Maybe the other two can find something to hunt."

As much as it kills me to give in and admit to Faye that I have found nothing, I really don't feel like getting lost in this place. With so many twists and turns, pictures and statues in every room that just scream danger to me, I would much rather be alive and in the supplies room than dead in some corner of the arena. Callena seems to have a similar attitude because she follows me back towards the room without so much as a slight hesitation. I notice that she has begun to fall behind me and I turn to face her head on, motioning to my left with my weapon to show her where she should be walking. I'm not a stupid leader, I know that those of us with power are always the biggest threats. Just take a look at what happened to both Vulcan and Jax. Both of them given a great amount of power and both of them killed within days of getting it. I should probably be more worried than I am, but the only one here right now that could possibly have a chance at getting a hit on me is Callena, and I'm a good three or four inches taller than her and my axe could be stuck in her skull before she could even lift her heavy staff.

Callena rolls her eyes at my order but moves to where I had pointed. Now that I can see her I feel much more at ease. No chance of a sneak attack by her, not unless she is willing to risk a fatal cut by my axe. One thing I have learned about Callena, though, is that she is someone more likely to wait around for action to find her than to risk anything to start a fight.

Callena enters through the door before I do and just as I am walking from the darkness of the hallway into the slightly brighter room I hear the beginnings of a gasp that is cut short but the sound of metal on flesh. I walk more quickly into the room, the swinging light bulbs shedding enough light so that I can see the bloody scene before me.

Callena is pinned to the wall just beside the door, impaled by a familiar silver spear through her stomach. I am unable to stop the gasp that escapes my mouth as I see her struggling helplessly against the stuck weapon. The scene is so familiar, so much like the memory I tried to shove to the back of my mind several days ago. A tiny girl pinned above all of us as we stood awaiting the gong for the Games to start, struggling with blood flowing down the wall behind her. Callena looks just like her, so defenceless, so tiny.

I whip my axe out in front of me and rush towards Faye who catches my weapon easily with another spear. I slash out at her again and again, but my mind is unclear and each one she dodges. I finally get a tiny red stripe to come across her cheek and she wobbles back with her hands to her face.

"I thought we had a deal!" I shout at her over the sound of a nearby cannon blast.

"Deal's off," she sneers back at me. "One was planning to kill us both, run off with Caddis and hunt the others."

I scoff at the idea before realizing its not so far-fetched. Was it not just days ago that we planned the same fate for Jax? If we could do that, the two minions could have easily killed us both. They likely wouldn't have even awoken us so that we could die with dignity. No, a slice across each of our throats and their competition decreases immensely. "Why's he still alive then? If they were plotting against us together."

"He told me all about Callena's plan," she says with a slight hitch in her voice. The china doll's not used to pain I guess. There's barely a mark on her pale face and yet she holds it as if her very life was going to drain out of the tiny cut. "He deserves his keep for now."

"You should have told me first, Faye. Callena was mine. That was the deal."

"Yeah, let her live, definitely a great idea," she says sarcastically.

"She was mine," I sneer under my breath. Suddenly I lash out again, this time at Caddis who holds no weapon between us, not entirely conscious of my actions. Callena was supposed to be mine to direct, and now I have no one. If I have no one, she won't either. It's only fair. The life of her ally for the life of mine, why should I suffer the only loss if they were in on it together? Caddis flinches back as I rush at him but he makes no effort to run, realizing there is no use.

Something catches me across my chin and I stumble backwards from the force, falling to my knees. I taste blood almost immediately and my jaw feels locked and immensely painful to say the least. When I look up I see Faye standing over me with her spear clutched in both hands.

"Try it again. That was only the blunt end, make a move and I kill you this time," she says through clenched teeth.

I crawl backwards on my hands and knees like an animal towards the door. Shoving myself through the opening in the wall as Faye and Caddis stare at me with something between triumph and regret.

They should regret this. Never again will Maxon Slate crawl away from them like a filthy dog, next time I will be the one with the expression of triumph. If I ever see them again it will not be soon enough because that will be the moment when both of them will die. Perfect little Faye and her minion, no more than corpses creating the mountain to my victory.

* * *

_**Callena Martis, District One**_

* * *

**The artist theme for this story will be **_**Three Days Grace.**_

**Song: **_**Riot**_

* * *

**The blog for this story can be found on my profile. Deaths will be notified here.**

* * *

**I am terribly sorry to the creators that have lost their tributes, I do hope that you will stick around to see the progression of the story. If not then that is okay too and I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. Characters were killed based on personality, storyline and of course whether or not their creator reviewed. Hopefully no hard feelings if your character is gone. **

**From now on, a question or two will be asked at the end of each chapter which I would love for you to answer, and I also ask for a general review on my writing as well, if you would be so kind.**

_**Who are your favourites that are left?**_

_**What do you think of the arena's newest...development (the paintings that pop out)?**_

* * *

**I know, I'm late again but I have a good excuse. No not really, but I had some difficulty with this because I am setting up some stuff for later chapters. I hope you guys are all still reading and enjoying it! I don't think this was one of my stronger chapters, I literally wrote all of it tonight, but I hope it's alright to all of you despite this! **


	14. Trust Me

**Let You Down by Three Days Grace**

_Trust me  
There's no need to fear  
Everyone's here_

* * *

**Alpine Deerden, 17, District Seven**

I don't think I have ever felt this alone.

It's strange to think, isn't it? At any other time in my life I would have wanted nothing more than to be left alone. Nothing else would have pleased me further. Quiet that would allow me to think and regroup. No one for me to be wary of, no one to despise for being a distraction to my solitude. Silence that I have always wished so heavily for and now feel swallowed by.

Loneliness, I correct myself. Not silence.

Silence is golden but loneliness is grey. Silence is something you create for yourself during a time you feel it is necessary. Loneliness is when you know what you are missing; an unwanted silence created by the absence of people you have gotten used to. Made by the ones you possibly did not even know you had grown attached to and then were separated from. I never thought it possible that I could miss someone. It was a feeling never sought after by me and it felt foreign to my withering mind. But it was true, I missed someone. I missed the only two people that had ever been real friends to me. I missed Dove who was dead and I missed Cain who now shunned me. I missed the somewhat strained type of friendship that we had all somehow come to with each other and I missed the company that they provided me. Probably more than that, though, I missed the feeling that maybe I wasn't always so alone.

But they're gone now, one taken by death and the other by grief, and I would have to deal with the fact that I was now alone.

_Click, clack. Click, clack. Click, clack. _

Or maybe not.

I hear the footsteps clearly even though I am lost in my thoughts, the sounds alerting me to the fact that I was very much not alone at this moment. I have the urge to open the door but reason makes me hesitate. Would it not be a death sentence to step out into that hallway, not knowing whether the person plodding down the carpet was the harmless girl from Ten or the cruel Career from Two? These thoughts only stop me for a split second. Overwhelmed easily by the simple thought asking why I should care if there's a pretty good chance I'm going to die no matter what I do. In my last few days, maybe even hours, why should I limit what I let myself do? It's not like I'm going to condemn myself, the Capitol has basically already done that part for me.

The door creaks open and I let my eyes wander. They don't have to go far though, because standing just a few steps from where my head peeks out of the heavy door is Cain, his neck turned to stare directly at me. Instinctively I search his face for any of the previous anger that he had when he forced me away, but I see nothing. Not just a lack of anger, but also a lack of expression. Nothing is on his face, in the most literal sense imaginable. He stares at me and me at him. I can feel my lips separate and then reclose several times as if my mouth had something to say that my mind was unaware of but decided against saying it at the last minute.

Then, all at once, the stillness that had seemed to encompass us shatters and Cain lunges at me. All the fierce, raw anger back in his eyes as if it had been there the entire time. He catches me by surprise and manages to tackle me to the ground. I roll myself over and he lands on the floor beside me but before I can get back up he grabs my neck with one strong hand and forces my head to the ground with a painful _thump. _

I claw at his hand and he releases his grip in surprise, stumbling back when I deliver a frantic kick to his chin. I see him crack his jaw back into place with a pained expression and then he turns back to me with a new fire in his eyes. His hand reaches to his belt and my heartbeat quickens, knowing exactly what he is grabbing for. The flicker of a blade is all I see as it flies at me with Cain`s body trailing behind it. I only manage to roll out of the way before the knife sticks into the carpet, getting stuck for a moment.

I try and rise up too quickly and I feel a dull pain begin in my thigh. That`s when I remember my own weapon. Removing the thick blade from where it is concealed on the inside of my belt I tense my body for another attack. Before I can feel safe with something to protect myself in my clutch, I feel Cain grab be from behind and hold my neck and my free hand in a tightening headlock. I choke for breath and almost reach up to try and free myself before I once again remember the knife.

And without a second of hesitation I plunge it backwards, straight into the flesh of his stomach.

The grip around me instantly loosens and I finally try and struggle my way out of Cain`s still sickening grip. I am unable to free myself before he begins to fall back, one hand going instinctively to the knife still sticking out of his skin and the other holding strong to my neck. I land on top of him and something warm and sticky feeling is spat onto my neck. Blood, almost definitely blood.

My struggles are stopped by a loud grunt of pain that I only realize a moment later have come from my own lips as something sharp plunges into my back. The cold feeling of metal is felt along my back as the blade is removed and a pained laugh echoes in my ear.

"I'm not going to die alone," Cain laughs, his grip on my loosening even as he speaks. "You're going to die too, Seven."

"Cain" I choke but the question that was to follow is lost in a sea of blood as I cough up the metallic liquid. A cannon booms and only then am I aware of the still body lying under me. I try and pull myself up on one arm but the effort is too much and I collapse almost immediately beside the corpse of the one person I had lost to grief.

That's two lost to death.

My eyes search down to my side and find the wound I had felt earlier very visible. My own choked out laugh pulses in my ears as I stare down at it, the sickly crimson leaking into a puddle that mixes feely with Cain's.

At least there's no one left for me to miss. I think to myself as the world starts to get blurry around me. And I can't help myself from wondering, as my vision fades and I am left only with the fleeting sound of choked breathing, if anyone will miss me.

* * *

**Fuze Lypton, 16, District Three**

This place seems much more foreboding when you have to face it all alone. Sure, Wyre never was much help in keeping the two of us safe. But she kept me sane, and I think that was what I needed more than safety. Even when I could see her eyes slipping into insanity I still relied on her to keep my mind where it needed to be. Seeing her reminded me of how important it was that I stay rational, that I stay sane. She showed me what the descent into insanity looked like. Now, without that constant reminder of what I mustn't be, I feel frightened. Of course I had always been frightened, fearful, but this is a deeper kind of afraid. Something that goes straight into the pit of my stomach and gnaws at it. Something that even in my dreams is impossible to ignore.

I'm scared of insanity.

I'm terrified of losing the glint of awareness and intelligence in my eyes. I'm fearful that that if I ever do manage to escape this place that I will be completely incoherent; lost to the world around me. I'm scared that one day I will not awaken to the empty pictures of the arena, but instead to a pit of monsters of my mind's own creation. I can deal with the creatures that the Capitol has created; those are physical and can therefore be killed. Monsters created by you own subconscious can and will chase you forever. For the only thing that is able to kill them is the steady blade of sanity.

My own mind is the one thing I cannot bear to fight with. Simply because it is the one thing that I have left that could save me. I am not strong, I am not manipulative, but I have always been intelligent. I have always had a way with my mind that would give me some advantage over the others. I wasn't a genius, not like some of the people I went to school with or even like Wyre was. I wasn't their kind of smart. I understood things, things that I shouldn't have been able to. I knew people. I knew what they knew, and sometimes I could replicate what they could do. I was a genius of people, if you could call me a genius at all.

No, I wouldn't allow my body and my mind to feud with one another. I have to bring them together. I have to keep my sanity and I have to keep my life. If I don't, well, I don't even want to think about that yet. Not when in reality I am so close to not having to.

I knew I wanted to win. I promised my family, I promised my friends that I would do my best to come home. I was going to do it for them but then Wyre came along and I didn't want it for myself anymore. Who could want life for themselves when someone so helpless, so innocent, so small, could have life instead. But now, I can understand that the chance is gone for her and it's slipping but not yet gone for me. I can still do this, but not just for my family, my friends, or even just for Wyre. I have to want this for myself and only after Wyre died did I allow myself to think that I might want to live for myself.

Would it be wrong to say that I am almost glad she is no longer with me, for only now can I actually let myself take the chance to live.

But if I want to live I need a plan. I need an advantage.

_Her backpack._

I fling my own larger black bag over my shoulder and it lands with a loud _thump_ on the carpet. My hands dig through it messily, things being thrown to both sides of me as I search. It's at the bottom, just where I remember burying it after I cut it off of her tiny still shoulders. The image still chills me to the bone but I do my best to ignore it. My mind does well to occupy me instead with the ideas running through it.

I tighten my grip around the thin straps and smile despite the memories that come back as I look at it. This will be my advantage. This is what will save me and I won't be doing it for anyone else.

For once in my life I will be doing something for myself.

* * *

**Amaran Luminera, 18, District Twelve**

I couldn't even tell you when the idea hit me that I could be dependent on another human being. Never have I been able to relinquish the little power I had over my life. Always I lived in a kind of fear of letting myself be taken care of. I am strong, I am independent, I am the living part of my aunt who taught me everything that my mother never could. I do not need anyone, or so I thought.

Funny how quickly things can change when you're facing the distinct possibility that you will not live to see another rueful morning.

I grew up in the house of a merchant, in the house of my father. The blonde haired man that I inherited so much from and yet someone I was wary of. I saw what my mother was, so easily able to relinquish everything that she could have control over for security in a wealthy household. It seemed so natural to her. And yet so wrong for me.

In that was I have always been more the daughter of my aunt than that of my mother. My aunt never married, instead she took up a job in the mines like everyone in the Seam without anything else to offer the community had to do. Every time I saw her she was coated form head to toe in black dust, and yet just as prominent as the filth was the genuine smile. Something I rarely if ever saw on the face of my mother.

The best word I could use to describe my mother to someone who had never met her would be reserved. She reserved her smiles, she reserved her words, and she reserved her body and her expressions and her talents. As a child I could never quite understand why she always let my father do all of the talking and reserved herself to working in the kitchen or cleaning the house at night.

It was on the most normal of nights that I discovered this reason. When I snuck upstairs from my tiny bedroom in the basement to hear frustrated whispering from the kitchen. I had paused halfway up the steps, my childish form shaking at the chilling noise. None of the words were audible to me, but they sounded so angry that I could not even make myself move from the stairway until the heart wrenching sound of flesh on flesh scared me into movement. I didn't understand, I didn't know what that sound was. Never had I heard something like it. But the next morning everything clicked in my mind when I saw the purpling skin of my mother's cheek.

I never even had the courage to ask her about it, to suggest something that could let her out of the hole she had dug for herself. Every night I would lie alone in my bed, straining my ears to hear the whispered screams. Almost every night I heard them too, but I could never be sure if they were real or merely a recreation from my mind. My mother never said anything, she never gave any hint of what was happening to her besides the odd bruise of scratch.

I could never imagine living with that. Living with the knowledge that each night you might be faced with harsh words, threats, even violence? It's unthinkable. And yet, she stayed. Despite everything she sacrificed her own well being to her husband, to my father. She stayed because she needed him; she stayed through all of this because she had married him, because she had no other way of supporting herself, because she had me to support as well, and likely for a whole other skew of reasons that her mind had fabricated to force her to stay.

She had allowed herself to become dependent on someone that only ended up hurting her, and I promised myself from the day I knew onwards that I would never let myself get close enough to someone that they could do that to me. I would be strong, I would be independent, I would be like my aunt because I never wanted to end up so trapped. I promised myself that I would protect myself, but I also can recall another promise. The promise that as soon as I found a way I would protect my mother as well.

The promise that more than likely I will never be able to keep.

"Amaran? Are you alright?"

My breath gets stuck in my throat as I try my hardest to come back from that little basement bedroom and those cruel whispered threats. When I finally open my eyes again I see Noeah. I see wide eyes and open lips. I see gentle arms wrapped around my shoulders and feel warm breath on my neck. There are no greying walls, there are no stomps and there are no cries. I try to croak out a response but only end up collapsing into the strong arms, burying myself deeper and deeper into the smell of blood, sweat, and fear that has somehow become a comfort to me.

"Wh-What's going on?" He asks as his arms tighten around me and I feel him covering my body in his own, a sense of protection coming over me.

"Nothing," I whisper and I realise that I am crying now. "Nothing, I'm fine."

"Amaran," he whispers, tilting my head up by my chin until I am looking directly into his dimmed eyes. "What's wrong, tell me?"

I hug him tighter, suddenly feeling the need to have his body closer to me if that were even possible. When did I begin needing the warmth of his form against me? When did I first realise that the beating of his heart was as calming to me as the beating of my mother's heart? When did I start to feel this connection to him?

I promised myself that I would protect myself, but now it seems like it would be so much easier to let someone do it for me. Just like he promises with his eyes that he will do.

* * *

**Enya Hale, 15, District Ten**

I don't have the energy to move any farther. Everything hurts; my legs feel stick thin, my arms too heavy to lift, my lips dried and cracked, and my stomach so hollow and fragile that even bending over is excruciating. There is nowhere in this place where I can find water, food, anything. Nearly everything I had gotten from the Cornucopia died with Geare, the rest lasting not but half a day. The idea of constantly running and moving locations was clever in thought, but without the supplies to sustain myself for more than another few hours it has become futile. Am I supposed to know what to do now? I don't, I'm only fifteen years old. How am I supposed to know how to keep myself alive in a place that's trying its best to kill me? I'm trying as hard as I can, but it's just so hard.

I don't want to be alone any more than I did back in District Ten, the only difference is that now I would do anything to just have someone to smile at me. I'm used to being an outcast, an oddball, that was always part of me. I just don't want to be by myself when I die. I just want someone to hold my hand as I draw my last breath, and if that breath happens in this place I know that my wish will never be true.

I miss my family more than I ever thought I could. That distance that we all unknowingly put between us feels even more prominent with them being who knows how far away. I don't even know where I am. I don't even know where I, more likely than not, will die. I don't want to give in to the possibility that I will die here, but with the end looming nearer and nearer I can't help but think about it. What if I had listened to my parents better, would that have changed anything? They always wanted to show me how to live, how to keep myself and someday my family alive. But I'm still so young. I wanted other things than a family, than a husband, than my own home. I wanted to be different; I wanted to be special somehow in a place that's always been so cookie-cutter for my people.

Now all I want is to survive. Ironic how that was always the only thing my parents wanted to show me and I never paid any attention. What I wouldn't give to have them chattering in my ear all day, showing me how to pick the right crops and how to build tools out of nature. All I can rely on is what my instincts tell me, and what they're saying is keep moving.

I want to move; I feel the overwhelming need to leave this room, but I can't. The heavy breathing and endless trembling as a result of the familiar atmosphere only uses up more of my depleting energy.

But I have to move. And I have to move right _now. _

This room brings back too many memories. The little stone statues and the empty walls. It's a different room, I know that much, but my mind takes any chance it can get to cause me pain. To remind me of how I allowed the only ally I had left to die in such a horrifying way. Anything to make me feel even more on edge than I already do, anything to torture me mentally and emotionally when the arena is already taking care of the physical parts.

I lean forward from the wall adjacent from the wall with the single doorway and I can already feel the shortness of breath begin taking over my lungs. I pause for a full minute to recollect myself before starting the tedious task of scooting myself away from the wall and towards the door. I don't remember it being this far away. My eyes squint as the image swims around the room. I don't remember doors being able to move.

The door solidifies after a few seconds and I continue crawling towards it, my pace slow and painful but as much as I can bear at this moment. My knees bang against the door with a heavy _thud _and I laugh out loud as I realize that I have made it. I'm not defeated yet. I'm still fighting, I will always keep fighting no matter what my body feels. I'm only going to stay down only when I am physically incapable of getting back up again.

A piercing pain embeds itself into my shoulder and I let out a sharp cry. My hands fly almost immediately to the point of pain and my fingers wrap themselves around something hard and stone cold. It takes all of my strength to pull the thing out of my body and bring it around so that I can see it. What I see in my hands causes me to scream out again, my throat feeling dry and yet unable to stop the sound from emerging.

It's a snake. A long piece of stone with carved in eyes and two pointed teeth coming out of an open mouth. The snake makes a lunge for my face but I manage to toss it away from me before it can reach it. My arm stretches for the doorknob but before it even makes it halfway something wraps itself around my neck at a speed so fast that I barely register that it is the same stone statue.

I open my mouth to scream but no sound comes out. I claw desperately at the thing cutting off the oxygen from entering my body but it only tightens. My head feels light within seconds, my hands numb just moments after that. And before I can even begin to form my last thought everything around me goes black and I feel nothing.

* * *

_**Cain Frost, District Eleven**_

_**Alpine Deerden, District Seven**_

_**Enya Hale, District Ten**_

* * *

**The artist theme for this story will be **_**Three Days Grace.**_

**Song: **_**Let You Down**_

* * *

**The blog for this story can be found on my profile. Deaths will be notified here.**

* * *

**I am terribly sorry to the creators that have lost their tributes, I do hope that you will stick around to see the progression of the story. If not then that is okay too and I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. Characters were killed based on personality, storyline and of course whether or not their creator reviewed. Hopefully no hard feelings if your character is gone. **

**From now on, a question or two will be asked at the end of each chapter which I would love for you to answer, and I also ask for a general review on my writing as well, if you would be so kind.**

_**It's getting down to only a few tributes, out of the seven tributes left who do you WANT to make the final five and who do you THINK will make the final five?**_

* * *

**For those of you that saw my WII update you have already seen this but this chapter is so late because I have had a lot going on. Like I seem to be doing every chapter, I feel the need to apologise once again.**

**No idea when the next update will be, hopefully not too long but I am done making promises for updates to come at a certain time because I always break those. So it will come when it comes, I'll do my best though. **


	15. Spinning

**Break by Three Days Grace**

_Tonight, my head is spinning  
I need something to pick me up  
I've tried but nothing is working_

* * *

**Toriton Aszero, 15, District Five**

I have seen wonders in here, and yet I do not smile for I feel no happiness.

I have seen monsters that have no right to exist out of nightmare, and yet I do not cower for I feel no fear.

I have murdered in cold blood, and yet I do not destroy my mind for I feel no guilt.

I have seen the lost faces of each one of my allies in the picture frames at night, and yet I do not cry for I feel no sadness.

I cannot speak a single word that could describe how I feel. I feel content, but yet not happy in the least. I feel safe, but not yet secure. I feel empty, but not at all bothered by this fact. The best way that I could voice what I feel right now is that I do not feel anything at all. But that couldn`t be true. Would I not be dead if I could feel nothing? Surely something must be there for my lungs to continue to breath, for my heart to continue to beat, and for my brain to continue to process thoughts. Or am I simply delusional; half-dead; starving? Could that be the reason I feel this way? Is it because I am merely moments shy of being embraced by the gentle arms of black death?

But I see no wounds. I taste no blood. I sense no pain nor do I recall any. I cannot be dying if I still have food in my stomach, water on my lips, and skin on my bones and muscles. No, I do not believe that I am dying, but nothing like this has ever been known to me before. Nothing like this numb sensation that seems to take over my entire being. Not just my body but my mind, heart, and soul. If I am not dying, then why am I simply spread along the floor of a small room filled with empty frames. Soft carpet pressed up against my cheek and yet feeling nothing but sheer consciousness.

I wonder how my parents are faring. Surely they must miss me.

Perhaps maybe not though. Maybe they are relieved. That's the feeling you get when a burden has been lifted from you. Is this how they feel? Was I nothing but a burden to them. Since I was five years old I needed them more than any other child I ever knew needed their parents. It's funny, actually, that even now when I think of the moment from which I became this burden that I do not feel the fear that always has taken me. I still feel nothing, nothing but the steady beating of my heart in my chest.

One night I had been I my bed, tucked in my mother as I had been every night, dreaming of playing with my friends in the trees I had only seen in the textbooks at school. My tiny hands gripped a thick branch as my feet pushed upwards to launch myself onto the next step. I fell, and even though it was only a dream I became frantic. I kicked out with arms and legs, my entire body out of control for a brief moment only long enough for me to throw myself out of my covers and onto the floor.

My head landed on the wooden train that I had spent an entire summer carving with my father. I saw stars, I felt warm blood running down the back of my neck. I screamed. I cried even as strong arms lifted me from the floor and tied a tight scarf around the now gaping wound on the backside of my head. I remember coming in and out of consciousness, sometimes with pain and sometimes without. I remember screaming and not just thinking but actually believing that I was going to die.

I woke up I'm not even sure how many mornings later with a wide grin on my face. After that I was never the same boy I had been, I had changed. Somehow something went wrong when they were trying to close the nearly fatal wound. Very wrong. Every morning I would awaken in anything from a smile to hysterical tears. My parents tried to help me, they tried to make me think that this was just a side effect and that I would be better soon enough.

I never was. Ten years later I was still the same wreck that I had been every day since the dream that had nearly killed me. My parents still held onto hope. They still thought, to some extent, that this was only a temporary thing that was just taking a little longer than expected to heal. I knew though. I understood with perfect clarity that this would be something that would a part of me for the rest of my life.

Until now that is.

For some reason, amidst all this insanity and all these heightened emotions, I have pulled a full one-eighty. From feeling something so intensely that it is impossible to ignore it all the way to feeling nothing at all and not knowing what to do with yourself. I`ve changed, but that doesn`t mean anything to me. I`m still the same wreck that has been a burden to my parents for so long. That hasn`t changed.

Something thumps against my skull and I turn at the hollow noise that erupts. It takes a second for the pain to suddenly pulse through me. A electrified feeling that racks my entire body. I try to stand but another kick hits me in the groin, halting any chance at movement. My eyes catch a small glimpse of red hair and then a flash of silver as something descends upon me.

Then I am back to feeling nothing, this time with the comforting blackness that pulls me under before I can take another breath.

* * *

**Caddis Tamar, 18, District Four**

The boy falls at my feet, his head hanging limply by the thin flap of neck that still holds onto it. My stomach churns and I take a step back from the corpse, the deafening blast of a cannon marking the deed. Blood pools under my shoes and I feel green. I want to look away, forget about the hindered pride and the starring blue eyes only made stronger by my failure to cope. Even though my whole body shivers, and even though I can feel the sour taste of bile clawing at the back of my throat, I don't allow myself to look away. The act is done, the kid is already dead. There is nothing but misery for myself to accomplish by making myself look weaker than the trainers told me I already was when I left.

"Not bad," Fay purrs from behind me. I feel her pointed touch on my shoulder and my eyes only break away from the fallen tribute when Faye snatches the sword from my hand and brings it down on what is left of the boy's neck. "But you missed some."

My stomach lurches when I feel a soft bump against the toe of my shoe and I look down to barely recognize the blood painted head of the Five boy. I take another step back and Faye cackles with laughter. She's enjoying this. She finds humor in seeing me force myself to try and live up to the impossible expectations set for me and for everyone that came before me.

A monster cannot be made, they are simply born. This is a fact that I have just come to realize. Practically since birth I have been surrounded by all of this. I have been immersed in the training necessary to become what they thought would make me a Victor. I trained hard, I was skilled and still am, but I have never been the cold-blooded reptile they always urged me to be. You cannot be trained to ignore the guilt or to accept the praise for taking a life or else I would be able to do just that. I wasn't born a monster, but somehow I have become a killer.

They're not the same thing, though. You can kill and feel guilt, that makes you a killer but human all the same. It is when you feel nothing at all after taking away someone's ability to feel or be anything. That is what makes you a monster.

People say that all Careers are what I have come to fear; creatures of the night, abnormalities, beasts, and monsters. This year alone I have heard it whispered nearly every time I have walked by the other tributes. But they fling the term around far too loosely. Not all of us are or were the monsters they hid from at night.

I cannot say for certain if Vulcan was the villain everyone thought him to be. He was not in this place long enough for us to truly figure that out. He may have very well been, but something inside of me makes me wonder if maybe he wasn't.

Jax was not a monster, of that I can be certain. The look in his eyes as he faced death for the first and final time, that contained the emotion of someone all too human. He was a killer, or at least he trained to be one. But not one tiny part of me can consider him a monster, not one lonely part of me.

Callena I did not know enough about to judge. She was to herself, too silent and thoughtful to associate with many of the rest of us. A killer she was or at least would have become for sure, her words to me on that night that she sought the heads of our new leaders betrayed that title to me. A monster though? I guess no one will ever truly know about that.

Maxon, the only Career still breathing outside of myself and Faye. She is spirited sure, bold even, but nothing she has ever done can lead me to believe she is anything but human. She always had that overly arrogant tongue back in the Capitol. Always good for a private laugh if nothing else. I always thought, and hoped, that out of everyone else in the alliance it would be her or Vulcan to take leadership. As it so happened I was right on both accounts.

This leads me to Faye. The model-like tribute that stands before me, bearing the blood of fallen tributes and allies uncaringly on both the soles of her shoes and the tip of her spear. The only one of us that, maybe for the simple reason that I have known her since I began training at the Academy, I can without a doubt in my mind brand as the only thing I was never able to be. A monster. A cold-blooded creature that volunteered not for the respect of her trainers nor for the pride of her friends and relatives; but for the want. She _wanted _this and now I am living in the shadow of a monster who is willing me to let her control me; to let her mold me into this perfect accomplice.

Against my will or by it I will never know, but I have become a disciple of the devil. And the only way out is death, be it mine or hers.

* * *

**Maxon Slate, 17, District Two**

Another cannon blasted sounded earlier today, before the windows dimmed and the hallways became little more than a haunting, black-coated tunnel. I've never thought myself to be the type of person to be fearful, but even I cannot keep away the feeling that something is watching me. Paranoia, that's all it must be. I've seen no one since my last encounter with Faye and her little brainwashed minion. Besides that, how could anyone be brave enough to stalk me? A trained Career with a track list of cruelty and indifference? No one could possibly have the nerve.

Yet, I still feel the fingertips of fear clawing at the back of my mind. Like thin, black tendrils reaching out to encompass me.

"I won't let them get to me," I giggle to myself even though I'm certain no one is around to hear. "They won't get me; not me!"

My feet step along the carpet, careful steps that make nearly no sound against the empty silence of the arena. I'm sure to stay in the middle of the hallway, I can see every door and every shadow before it can open or capture me. I'm the smart one, I'll get out of here alive.

The anthem begins to play and I jump two feet in the air, landing with an ungraceful thud on the floor. I see a glowing light come from inside one of the rooms and I enter it quickly, knowing that it will be the only way to see whose cannon I heard this morning.

This arena has no sky; no ceiling that is shared with the entire arena on which images of fallen tributes can be seen by everyone still alive. They had to get crafty this year. They had to think outside the box. So instead of one place to put up the results, they chose dozens, possibly hundreds. Each night the paintings within the rooms fade away to the sound of the anthem, the Capitol seal taking their places and after that the daily roster of fallen tributes.

I shuffle through the door and close the port behind me with a quiet thump. The first painting I spot I run towards, watching the Capitol seal as it begins to fade away. I hardly recognize the face that takes its place within the golden frame, blonde hair and fair eyes paired with a wild grin taking up the face of a younger male tribute. I squint my eyes to look at the seal behind him; District Five of course. Those tributes always have been rather forgettable.

His cheeky smile fades back to the seal and as the anthem fades once again to an eerie silence the original painting returns to its place within the frame. I don't take much time to look at the painting, the art piece looking like little more than a childish finger painting of sorts, before I slip out the door and into the hallway which seems even darker than before.

As the hallway leads me further and further into the arena I can't help but think that the color of the arena is too perfect. Red, right red crimson to symbolize blood. Only it's placed too perfectly, the lines are too symmetrical and the coat is too even. The paint should be spread sporadically, unevenly, like the real shedding of blood by hand of man and monster.

That wouldn't be okay for the Capitol, though, no it wouldn't. The capitol is perfect, so perfect that even during the shed of fresh blood everything must be done in sequence. That is the one thing I have always despised about those people. Not the fact that the Hunger Games exist, that is for reasons that have been all but burrowed into my since birth. It's not that, it's the fact that even in death we are expected to be perfect. The people who kill must do so in the exact, specific way so that it is not too much for the citizens but still gives them the desired entertainment.

Killing is not an exact science and it never will be, there is no way to perform the perfect death. Not unless you're the Capitol.

Maybe that's more so what I have always hated, how I could be so talented and so amazing at what I do but still yet I was not perfect to anyone. Perfection was never even something I strived for, that is until I realized that it was too far out of arm's reach. Then I wanted it, no, then I _craved _it.

I'll never be perfect and that is what I despise. That someone thinks that they could possibly do better than I am doing. The sole reason that I hated Faye from the beginning. Little Miss I'm-so-perfect.

A hushed whisper stops me dead in my tracks as I am about to turn the corner. The voice stops for a moment and then begins again. It doesn't move, it must be sitting or standing at least in one spot. I crane my neck around the bend and see...nothing.

I shift my entire body around the corner silently, like an animal preparing to pounce at the slightest hint of movement. The small battle axe in my hand feels lighter with adrenaline and I wipe it on my pants as if I can already feel the blood that waits to stain it. I'm ready for this, I am ready. I may not be perfect, but I'm pretty goddamn close.

* * *

_**Toriton Aszero, District Five**_

* * *

**The artist theme for this story will be **_**Three Days Grace.**_

**Song: **_**Break**_

* * *

**The blog for this story can be found on my profile. Deaths will be notified here.**

* * *

**I am terribly sorry to the creators that have lost their tributes, I do hope that you will stick around to see the progression of the story. If not then that is okay too and I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. Characters were killed based on personality, storyline and of course whether or not their creator reviewed. Hopefully no hard feelings if your character is gone. **

**Nb1998, Toriton was one of the most original characters that I have ever had the pleasure of writing for. I hope that I was able to do him justice and I also hope you know that he was one of my favourites in this story and I will miss him greatly.**

* * *

**From now on, a question or two will be asked at the end of each chapter which I would love for you to answer, and I also ask for a general review on my writing as well, if you would be so kind.**

_**Only one more death before the final five! Who do you THINK it will be and who do you WANT it to be? (For reference we have left Maxon, Fuze, Faye, Caddis, Noeah, and Amaran).**_

_**Who do you think has been found by our little lone Career, Maxon?**_

* * *

**Yeah, yeah...I'm late again. Oh well I updated so yeah. Chapters are getting shorter and shorter, we're nearing the end! I feel like this chapter was not exactly a strong one for me but I hope I did all right. As you can probably tell I am much more into the psychological aspect of the Games than the actual fighting, that's just my style sorry to disappoint!**

**Anyway, 'til next time!**


	16. So Long

**Bitter Taste By Three Days Grace**

_So long, so long  
I have erased you_

* * *

**Noeah Hazurn, 17, District Nine**

"What was that?" Amaran turns to me with wide eyes and lips parted slightly. Despite her obvious fear I can't help but remember how soft her lips were when they were pressed to mine. I can't help but want that again. The passion of two people pushed together by exceptional circumstance. There was once doubt in my mind that what we shared was nothing more than a drive to survive this; nothing more than a desire to have someone to understand what we were going through. Now I know that our connection must go so much deeper than that. There is no way I could feel such passion and lust for someone that I merely shared experience with. It makes me wonder, what if she had been born into District Nine or even me into Twelve? Would we have been together at all if it weren't for all this? Or were we just a pair of star crossed lovers that were fated to be broken apart in death?

I don't want to get so attached to anyone, not when winning has to mean so much to me. But the feeling of her head resting on my leg, warm breath caressing my knee, makes me wonder how such a beautiful and genuine person could possibly be killed so ruthlessly. Would they really do it? Would the Capitol kill her and take her from me, or would they spare her and take me. Right now, I'm not even sure which I would prefer.

"I didn't hear anything." I answer honestly, not admitting that it had been because I was too focused on how I could feel the beating of her heart when she laid so close to me. Her head shoots up and she looks around again, more thoroughly this time.

"I heard something, I swear," she says with her eyes locked on mine. Even though I still hear nothing I nod to appease her. She has usually been right anyways and there is no sense in ignoring a threat, especially one so silent that I might never have heard it coming at all. She begins to sit up and I place a comforting hand on her shoulder, still thinking as well as hoping that the atmosphere is simply getting to her and that no threat exists at all.

I hear the door creak open and my eyes widen, my grip digging into the flesh of Amaran's shoulder. She still sits nearly in my lap and I can feel the energy changing between us from some sort of unspoken attraction to something that reminds me more of protectiveness. Her eyes lock with mine and she sits up to her full height beside me. Only as the door opens completely do I regret the way we are arranged, with her in front of me instead of behind me where I would rather her. I don't dare move nor do I think I could have if I had told my body too. I hold my breath.

The only thing I see is a pale arm reaching into the door quickly before my vision blisters. Amaran's head slams back into my chest with such force that the breath is knocked out of me for a moment and I sputter for air. Suddenly I become painfully aware of a sharp feeling in my upper thigh, the pain so excruciating that I would have cried out if not for the smirking appearance of the Career from Two. Her pale lips are turned up in a half grin as she eyes Amaran and I. I can barely move, the whole of her weight upon me and the pain in my leg so shocking that I can't even bring myself to try and touch it.

"Two birds with one stone," she chuckles and eyes both of us like a fine meal. My eyes waver down at her words, wondering what she could mean. It becomes obvious when I see the long rod of silver protruding from Amaran's stomach, a tiny fragment of the head visible to tell me that it is an axe. I think again about what the Career had said. _Two birds with one stone. _She thinks it hit me too.

_Well she is right about that_, I think to myself. _She just doesn't know where she hit me. _

The angle that Amaran landed on me gives the illusion that both of us have been skewered together by the stomach on the weapon, even though it has luckily only hit my thigh. I nearly laugh out, despite the horrible circumstance. She thinks she's won completely, but she hasn't got me yet.

Then I remember Amaran over me, I can feel her labored breathing on top of my body and my heart reaches out to her. I will her with everything I can manage to be okay. I need the Career to leave, if she sees me move she'll know she hasn't gotten us both. She'll come in to finish me off. I need to help Amaran now, even if the chance of her pulling through is depleting every second the blood keeps flowing out of her. I make a big show of coughing and keeping my lips sealed, forcing my breathing to match Amaran's and rolling my eyes into the back of my head.

After a few seconds I hear one final chuckle and then footsteps. As soon as I could hardly make out the sound of her steps I thrust Amaran's body off of me and lay her down on the rug with her head facing me. As I roll her onto her back I see the tip of the axe sticking out of her back and my stomach does a flip, reminding me of the pain in my thigh that is getting worse every second. I throw the backpack off of my shoulders and dig through it as quickly as possible to look for something to stem the bleeding, all the while whispering comforting words to my dying love.

I feel a touch on my cheek and look down to see Amaran smiling up at me painfully. She gives an almost unnoticeable nod of the head and my hands freeze, knowing that she has already given up on her life. I realize that tears have already began to flow down my cheeks as one lands on her shirt. I try and say something by my voice cracks into sobs, my head falling to her chest amidst the blood to cry. Amaran wraps her arms around my head and I listen to her heart struggling to keep on beating but dying out all too quickly.

"Please, don't leave me here," I whisper into her clothing, finishing the sentence even as her cannon echoes in my ears. "Please."

* * *

**Faye Darson, 18, District Four**

The spear feels as light in my hands as if it were nothing but an extension of my own arm. I can feel the wind whipping past my legs as it sways back and forth purposefully. Caddis is at my side, positioned ever so slightly behind me so that I am still definitely leading us, but not far enough behind that he is out of my immediate sight. I am not so confident in my control over him that I do not consider the possibility that he might be thinking to dispose of me. If the fallen leaderships of the Career Pack had taught me anything it is to watch your back, because even though you might be the leader you are always replaceable. There will definitely come a time when Caddis believes that he can do this without my guidance. I just have to make sure that I get rid of him far before he comes to this conclusion.

We round a corner and I push my hand out to halt Caddis mid step. He very nearly walks straight into my outstretched hand before he stops himself with a sharp intake of breath. A smile reaches my lips as the view before me registers in my mind.

_Maxon._

One of her treasured tomahawks is clutched tightly within her hands, the shining silver completely untainted by dust or blood. Her face is smudged under one eye with a dash of black dust that has fallen over the arena from disuse and her expression, from what I can see, is anything but the calm and witty face I have come to expect. Maybe she was never as good of a competitor as I gave her the credit for being. Maybe she's exactly like the other Careers, or maybe she's worse, maybe she has become a coward like Caddis. Lost without the guidance of a strong leader much like I know he would be if I ever chose to take him out. Her face says it all; paranoia, alertness, and just a sinful touch of guilt.

I smile, this is far better a situation than I could ever have hoped to find her in.

She continues on, by now at least thirty or so feet in front of us and making no effort to look back. Her eyes scan from side to side but it is several seconds before her eyes widen and right then I know that she has spotted us. Her body turns mechanically to face me, her spine subconsciously straightening out to bring her up to her full height which is still a good three or four inches below my own and almost a head below Caddis'. My grin widens, she has far too much pride to run when threatened. We have her.

"Oh it's just you Faye," she says with none of the usually cruelty in her voice. "Come to ask my assistance so soon, have you?"

"Not a chance," I retort, placing my free hand on my hip and raising my spear to punctuate my point.

"Two against one?" She asks sweetly. "Hardly fair now is it?"

"And what made you think this would have to be a fair fight?"

"I knew you were a coward, Faye," she smirks despite her situation. "Knew you would hide behind your little minion. Scared to take me on alone, are you?"

I know what she's doing, trying to lure me away to fight her one on one and it's stupid to fall for it. I have almost near certainty that I could beat Maxon even in a fair fight, but what do I have to gain by risking it? A possible injury? And beating her has never been a sure thing, I have seen some things that she can do and they frighten me. She sure as hell was never the most technical fighter, but she is unpredictable. Unpredictability is a terrifying thing. It means that you can never be sure of your position until it's all over and done with.

I decide against saying anything and motion Caddis forward with my fingertips. He takes one cautious step towards Maxon to stand beside me and I can see my opponent shrink back a step, obviously taken aback by my refusal to take up her offer. I give Caddis a look and he nods, understanding me completely.

Stay close, but only interfere if I need you. Don't wait if I look like I'm in trouble. Just act.

I take several steps towards Maxon alone and the smirk returns to her face when Caddis remains behind me. She takes a couple steps and raises her weapon to her shoulder, positioning her feet to charge me. I keep my own feet moving and when she runs at me I sidestep her with ease. A flurry of red hair whirls around me as I spin on my heel to face where she now is and I run at her with my spear parallel to my body. Not sticking out the sharp, fatal end, but merely using the weapon as a battle ram. She sidesteps me as well, as expected and I spin around the second I pass her, slamming the rear end of my spear into her back. She falls and within a fraction of a second I am on top of her.

She struggles to regain control of her limbs, my one foot pressing the wrist of her armed hand into the flooring. I lunge down at her with the spear and narrowly miss her neck, simply slicing a thin section that despite not being a fatal hit, bleeds immediately. Maxon winces in pain and I throw my head back in a laugh. A mistake that I regret almost instantly.

She thrusts up with her entire body at once, throwing me off of her and onto the ground beside her. I receive a hard hit from the blunt end of her axe to the face and my cheek throbs immediately, my hand instinctively flying up to caress it. Maxon raises her arm to slam the weapon down into me when she is lifted from the ground by the neck. I sigh with relief as Caddis slams her into the wall, her weapon lost and clanging to the floor.

I jump to my feet and grab the tomahawk from the ground, my dazzling teeth shining as I slam the weapon into her chest. My eyes don't linger on the broken Career as Caddis releases her and she falls limply to the ground. Instead they glance up to the ally still alive. Wondering if his saving me is a sign I should allow him to live, or an early warning that he must soon die.

* * *

**Fuze Lypton, 16, District Three**

My head spins with predictions as the second cannon blast racks my brain. That's two more deaths, two less tributes to die before one of us can leave, the final four now announced. I find myself wondering for the first time whether or not my family is watching me right now. For some reason it comforts me to know that they must be. If I somehow do find my way home they will know what I did to come back to them. They will finally realize that I do care about them more than I probably have show it. My friends know I will do anything for them, including stealing food and money from my own family to help them survive in the poorer areas of District three. But I can't even remember the last time I told my parents that I loved them.

That's why I have to get home. I don't want them to see me go and them never even be able to understand or be told how much I did love them. Our family has never been perfect, but it's mine so it's as close as I ever want to get. Cordin moved away six years ago when she was married and has since had two children of her own, but she has never come to visit and I have only met each of them once. I can barely remember their faces, but I am their uncle. I am part of their family and I don't want anyone that I love grow up missing a piece of their family.

I have done that enough for everyone I know. They should never have to feel the loneliness that filled my young childhood from the age of ten onwards. Never.

I will win for them. I will win for the parents that I never truly knew but still love all the same. I will win for my two young nieces so that I can make sure they never grow up the way I have had to. I will win for District Three. I will win for Wyre and her family. I will win for my friends. I will win for everyone that never thought I could make it this far.

I will win because I have a plan. I will win because I want it more than anyone could ever possibly know.

Never have I been good at all the little things that Wyre was able t silently execute so perfectly, but she has taught me. I have watched her and I have learned from her. If I do make it out of here, it will be because of her and no one will ever be able to convince me otherwise.

I continue to twist my fingers around the knots and spare rope that seem to endlessly come from the small backpack that was once my ally's. It takes time, far more time than I ever remember it taking her, but I am doing it right as far as I can tell. My mind twists and turns along with the rope in my hand. Perfecting the knots and sizing as best I can remember how to. When finally I am satisfied with my work I reel the rope back into the backpack in a way that it will not get tangled up further. When the times comes I will have little time to execute my plan, but if I am right about the point we have reached in the Games I should not have very long to wait.

"Attention tributes, attention." A voice rings out of the silence and I jump before a smile reaches my face. So I was right after all. "I would like to congratulate you all on your amazing courage and strength in surviving for this long, but it is not over yet. Tomorrow at the first burst of sunlight there will be a feast at the Cornucopia. We hope that you all will choose to attend, for we plan to be nothing but gracious to our _guests. _Thank you, that is all."

I smile, my plan is just beginning to come together. And even though the sun has only just begun to set judging by the light streaming through the narrow windows around me, I stand and sling both backs over my shoulders one on top of the other. If this is going to work, I have to act quick. I have to be the first guest the Gamemakers receive. That's the only way this plan will work.

I begin sprinting down the hallway, feeling the two bags bump up and down on my back. I see no one and barely know where I am headed, but I keep running. Time is running out, there is no sense in being cautious when my only chance at living means speed. It's a good thing I have always been a rather fast runner.

* * *

_**Amaran Luminera, District Twelve**_

_**Maxon Slate, District Two**_

* * *

**The artist theme for this story will be **_**Three Days Grace.**_

**Song: **_**Bitter Taste**_

* * *

**The blog for this story can be found on my profile. Deaths will be notified here.**

* * *

**I am terribly sorry to the creators that have lost their tributes, I do hope that you will stick around to see the progression of the story. If not then that is okay too and I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. Characters were killed based on personality, storyline and of course whether or not their creator reviewed. Hopefully no hard feelings if your character is gone. **

**From now on, a question or two will be asked at the end of each chapter which I would love for you to answer, and I also ask for a general review on my writing as well, if you would be so kind.**

_**Who do you want in the final three? (Faye, Caddis, Noeah, Fuze).**_

_**What do you suspect Fuze's plan to be?**_

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**This chapter is late but this time I have a valid reason. I have been working on organizing a schedule for my writing that will allow me to update hopefully every week and if not every week and a half. The update day for this story will hopefully be every Friday until the story ends. **

**Leave a review if you could and let me know how you think this chapter went. I feel like it was not one of the stronger ones by me because my specialty is and will always be psychological change/effects and this chapter was more focused on action. Sorry about that!**


	17. Nightmare

**Time Of Dying by Three Days Grace**

_Was it all too much  
Or just not enough  
Wake me up, I'm living a nightmare_

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**Caddis Tamar, 18, District Four**

My hand extends holding out the last piece of food that remains in my backpack, a squished looking energy bar that looks like a cross between a brick and something that might come out of your rear end. Faye dismisses it and I stare at it with something like longing. Most of my life I had access to such an assortment of food that I could take my pick. I don't think there was a night of my life that I ever went to bed hungry other than those times I had been trying to train myself on survival. Those few times were completely by option though. Never in my life was I hungry, not even just hungry but starving, because I simply had nothing to eat. Until now that is.

Now I'm hungry, thirsty, exhausted, sore, and filthy. If only my parents would see me now they would have a fit. They never tell you about this part of the Hunger Games, the parts where it's not just about the fighting and the one-upping. No one at the Academy knows the feeling of wearing the same outfit for over a week without a wash, or the sensation of dirt and dried blood eating at your skin as you sleep. I remember when these uniforms were stark white, at the Bloodbath when we first got a glimpse of the arena and the fighting that would take place inside of it. One look at it and you would never believe it had ever been that clean. Only just over a week has passed and there are holes wearing into the joint of my white dressings and seams and cuffs coming apart as I stand.

It's difficult to adjust to this kind of life, and it truly does feel like a life not just a week. It's like someone has faded everything in your memory except for the Hunger Games. Anything else you can think of from your district to your family to your friends is so distant that I can't even be sure it isn't just a figment of my imagination. How strange it is that this place can get to you so quickly even when you have had your entire lifetime to prepare for it.

I pound down the mutilated bar and it moves down my throat dryly, pressing me for water even though my mind is fully aware that I have next to none. I would ask Faye for some, seeing as mine seems to have run out within days while hers stays near full with the passing week, but I find the words lost on my lips. I just cannot bring myself to ask her for anything. Be it fear or wisdom, I just don't want to anger her when we are so close to getting out.

It never really occurred to me that I could actually walk out of this hell alive. From the moment they called my name and no one stepped up to volunteer I thought myself condemned to die. I cursed them in my brain, not just thinking but so close to actually knowing that the very people I had been with day in and day out for over ten years of my life were the ones that would have killed me. Now victory is so close I can almost taste it and I am beginning to think that maybe they were right. That maybe this was always what I was supposed to do in life.

That it's simply a choice made not by me but by fate.

No one can control it, no one can manipulate it. Fate is fate and that is just it. If fate wants me to win then I will and no one, not even Faye can stop me. Everything has happened in a way that makes me think maybe fate wants me to win. Here I am trusting a force I can only believe in and not actually touch or see, but somehow right now that's enough for me. Sometimes it helps to think that no matter what you do, nothing can change the outcome of fate.

I'd like to think that no matter how badly I mess up things I would only be doing what was destined for me to accomplish and somehow I find comfort in that notion.

I have made peace with what I have done and what I have not done. I will never be able to take it back, I will never be able to undo the dead look in the boy from Five's eyes as his life was stolen from his body. I will never be able to make it so I never took part in the killing of Jax. It's simply not possible and so I have decided that if I ever do make it out of this place, I will not dwell on what has been done by or to me.

But I will never forget them either, nor will I forgive them.

No matter what they will always be right here in my mind and my heart. No one prepares you to actually think of other tributes as human beings, but I just cannot allow myself to ignore the fact that they are. They live and breathe just like I do, they walk and love and joke and hate just like I do. No amount of propaganda can make me ignore this and no glory or fame will make me forget what I have witnessed. Mark my words, if I am Victor I am going to tell them exactly what the Hunger Games is and isn't. No matter what it will bring upon me, the trainees of Career districts deserve to know what this place really is.

They have everyone fooled, but not the tributes that go through it. That's why they have to kill us, so that we will not wreck this little facade the Capitol has created. The Victor must feel so alone and disoriented that there is no way they will take a stand, and that is the reason there can only be one.

* * *

**Noeah Hazurn, 17, District Nine **

My leg burns with another wave of fire as I try to move it again. I didn't see how bad it truly had gotten until I managed to drag myself a few feet away from my Amaran. That was when I blacked out, and when I awoke just maybe an hour or so ago she was gone. They took her, I should have never let them take her away from me.

Desperation made me take the thin looking axe from deep inside her flesh, but now sickness takes over and I nearly throw it away. Just the look of it, still dirty with the mixed dried blood of the two of us both makes me shudder and fills me with hope. It's us, it's as close to an us as there was ever going to be due to circumstance. If I kept it with me, it would be as close as I would likely be able to come to holding her again. It's sad really, but this thought brings me back.

The thought that maybe I could still win with her.

I clench my teeth as another sting of pain erupts and I try and motivate myself to keep moving but it's futile. I know that the feast was just announced before I blacked out, and that judging by the windows around me it was still night here, but I don't even know how far away I am from the Cornucopia. I might not even make it; my only hope is to get to my feet and hobble there, something I know will hurt excruciatingly. At least then if I run into one of the three others I won't be dragging myself along the floor and I might even have a fighting chance. That's all I can hope for right now, a fighting chance.

And I will fight.

Maybe that's just because I don't know what else to do.

If I just waited here and chose not to attend the feast, more likely than not the Gamemakers would just send some kind of mutt after me to entertain the audience until the others began the final fight. Giving up now is just a death sentence, and a painful one at that. At least if I go to the feast, they will say I went down fighting. Nothing would mean more to me than my family being able to say I never gave up. I don't want anyone to think that I just laid down and died. I'm a fighter, I always have been.

They never knew it, no, I don't think anyone really knew what exactly I was fighting. I fought everyday for the chance to be accepted. I fought with my voice, even when I said nothing at all. I fought with my mind, becoming the best at everything I could stand to study so that my parents could say I was doing something with my life. None of this mattered, though. All of it was going to go to waste if I died now. My parents could never be proud of me if I didn't live up to be something or own something.

To them, the only measure of a person's worth was what they had to offer the world. I would never even get a chance to prove to them that behind my mask of silence and near-depression, there was their son. A living, breathing child of theirs that shared their views of the world and the worth of human beings. They didn't know I was just like them and they might never know now. Not if I couldn't drag myself to that feast and win.

Yes, I had to win. There is so much left that I never got to do. I have so much more left to prove to everyone, including myself.

I just don't want to be a screw up anymore.

My feet hit the wall and I brace myself for another bout of pain as I step up the wall with my hands. I turn my feet so that I will be able to get myself in a standing position and then I take the final push to get myself upright. Blackness finds my eyes for a second and I collapse into the wall, but it doesn't last long and I save my position. The pain is so bad I can feel tears brimming in my eyes and a scream clawing itself up my throat. But I don't give in, not now when I'm so close.

I take one step and stuff my fist into my mouth to stop the cry of pain that nearly escapes. I'll make it, but I don't know how long this will take. I'm trying, but I don't know if that will be enough anymore. Maybe I am nothing but a screw up, but I'll still die fighting. The only way they can take away the fight in me is if I die.

And I'm not ready to go just yet.

* * *

**Faye Darson, 18, District Four**

I knew that we could not return to the Cornucopia until sunrise. That much was clear to me upon the announcement of the feast though I could tell that Caddis did not understand my reasoning. I pressed on though for I knew he would not dare to defy me. Not now when he thinks that he is so close to getting a free ride to the grand finale.

That`s how we ended up here, with the sounds of nothingness pulling in around me between the soft snoring of my district partner. He did not trust me enough to sleep willingly, and for that I should consider him wise. Will, though, has no power over the exhaustion that he has accumulated over the course of the Games. After what I had put him through, the stress and anxiety that he took to like glue after I`d planted it into his naive, little mind since the beginning. He probably lasted little over an hour before sleep claimed him.

Sleep, if you really thought about it, was little more than a temporary death. Your body tells your brain that it cannot possibly take any more living and so you die. Sure, you might awaken hours later, but for those long, sleep-filled nights you are dead to the world around you. You are vulnerable to anything that might own the sounds in the darkness.

The monsters of the night come for you when you are unable to do anything to stop them.

They torture you with sounds out of horror stories and vague shadows that your mind twists into terrible images. They take you, mould you into a creature filled to the ears with fear. Then, you are theirs and they do with you what they choose.

The darkened windows and endless thoughts rushing through me remind me that I have just described my very self. I was unseen, undetected as a major threat until most of the people that could have destroyed me were gone. I am the dark tendrils reaching into my district partner's mind to control him and make him fear me. Now he is mine, there is no more Caddis left. There is only my faithful minion that will stop at nothing to please me, for he knows that death would soon await him should he fail to do so.

It makes me feel powerful, but at the same time I can feel the arrogance building inside me. The trainers always told me that this would be my greatest fault, and I knew they had to be right for I was not incompetent at anything else. But I will not allow myself to feel the comfort of being on top. I will take down everything that could oppose me and destroy it entirely.

Now that there are only four of us left I cannot help but consider my own odds. From the beginning there were five other Careers, most of which I did not know the weaknesses or strengths of. From the very start of all of this I had just five major threats and now all but one of them are headed for their filthy graves. I did not count out the others from outer districts, but I never felt the need to target any in particular. Now though, with the power held out to me to control my own fate, I have to watch for anyone that might try to snag it away from my grip.

District Three, District Nine, and Caddis. I am the only female left, as I would have wished for it to be any day of the week. Males are easily taken care of, as long as they do not possess much more than brute strength. They don't hold anything back in a brawl, and you can be near certain that there will be no surprises. I always despised fighting other girls, I hated not being able to predict their next move.

Now I need to figure out my next move.

I have two choices that I could make tonight. I could choose to kill Caddis right now, when I am certain that he would have no chance of fighting back against my spear's thrust. I could count on myself and only myself to be able to beat the other two boys and go home like I promised myself I would.

Or I could take him with me to the finale. Another person to back me up, should he choose to keep himself locked within my game of fear. But somehow if he were to break away from that, he would be my most difficult kill yet. Simply because I know that if he really wanted to he could beat me. As much as it hurts my ego to admit it, he is better than me. He could probably kill me in a few minutes of sparring if he so chose to, and I would be able to do little to stop him. Could I really count on him to fight alongside me? Will I be willing to risk him breaking away and fighting for his own victory? Do I trust in my own attempts at brainwashing him into fearing me, even when he need just look inside himself to find the blade that would kill me?

I'm not that confident in myself to risk it.

My spear feels heavy in my hands as I shuffle over to kneel in front of Caddis, sleep having caused his cheeks to brighten in color and his lips to part softly as quiet snores escaped. I wouldn't lie and say he looks angelic or childish as he slept, because in reality he was eighteen years old and a good bit larger than I; nothing could make him look like a baby to me. He did, though, look vulnerable and the thought of how cowardly this act really was struck me as I sliced the tip across his neck.

That only made a slight waver in the tear, though, and the cannon boomed all the same.

* * *

_**Caddis Tamar, District Four**_

* * *

**The artist theme for this story will be **_**Three Days Grace.**_

**Song: **_**Time Of Dying**_

* * *

**The blog for this story can be found on my profile. Deaths will be notified here. **

* * *

**I am terribly sorry to the creators that have lost their tributes, I do hope that you will stick around to see the progression of the story. If not then that is okay too and I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. Characters were killed based on personality, storyline and of course whether or not their creator reviewed. Hopefully no hard feelings if your character is gone. **

**From now on, a question or two will be asked at the end of each chapter which I would love for you to answer, and I also ask for a general review on my writing as well, if you would be so kind.**

_**Next chapter is the final Games chapter, who do you think will be our Victor and why? (Fuze, Faye, or Noeah).**_

* * *

**Wow, look at that I am actually on time :O! I hope you guys are excited, I know I am, because the Games are over next chapter! I haven`t decided yet if I am going to have a final chapter, more than likely I will though. Let me know if you think I should or if you would just rather be done with this thing xD**

**Until next Friday, bye! **


	18. On the Edge and Falling Off

**It's All Over by Three Days Grace**

_When you're on the edge and falling off  
It's all over for you._

* * *

**Fuze Lypton, 16, District Three**

I take one step away from my masterpiece and stare back at it in wonder. It is perfect, truly a thing of rare beauty. Traps set up all along the Cornucopia's mouth, around the crates still lying within it in abandonment, and yet no one will see a thing. Poison rubbed into each surface meant for holding with the remnants of my own cloth backpack ; trip wires and knives set for flight all invisible to the untrained eye. I won't even have to fight at all, only watch with a sadistic type of pride as my creation makes a comedy show out of the Capitol's grand finale.

Let's see how they like that. I'll be free of their stupid game and I won't hurt any longer. My sanity will stay with me because have I not remained sane this entire time? What could change that then? Or am I simply deluded into a new reality that I could not even see the changes within me.

I haven't changed. I have simply survived. No one can hold me at fault for anything I have done or for what my precious creation will do to the other two, whomever they might be. They will be happy I won, they will not realize I won by spiting them. in my own way I am refusing to play their game. I won't fight. No, I am too clever for that.

It's everyone else who has lost their minds. Not me. Certainly not me.

The best part about this whole thing is that no one has even seen any of it yet. No one except the cameras and myself. The other two know nothing of my ploy. I laugh softly to myself; they have no idea how unfair this fight really is for them.

I take a quick glance around me, suddenly afraid that someone might be watching as I get the feeling of eyes on my back. I laugh again, there is no one there. They would not wait for me to be off guard. To them I am nothing, they would not waste more than a dagger on me if they thought that would do me in. To them I am an easy kill. To them I am just the kindling for the fire of the finale. They don't know, though. No, they have no idea,

I find it strange really, that none of the usual setup for the feast has arrived yet, but that is fine with me. I am content to wait as long as it will take for the cameras to be ready. I pat the tiny backpack that hangs loosely around my body. Yes, I can wait. Soon enough everything will fall into place, and I will be the only one left standing at the end of it all with both body and mind intact.

Imagine that.

It's almost funny to think, really, that the one the Capitol not once bet on or sponsored is the one who is about to win this entire thing. I cannot wait to get back, to see the looks on their faces when I finally prove to all of them that, despite all their doubts, I could fight for myself. Not only fight, but also win. I could win for myself too. Never should they count someone out until they have already gone.

I hear a commotion in the floor below me and I nearly yell out in surprise before turning tail and running back the way I came through one of the archways. I peek my head around the corner, curiosity prevailing even through the fear I have somehow learned to trust with my very life.

A table tears clean away from where the carpet has disappeared from the floor and I stare at it hungrily. It has been so very long since I have had real food, which has been especially hard since coming from the unmatched delicacies I experienced in the Capitol. To my surprise and disappointment, though, it is not food that sits on the table. Instead I see three objects, each set clearly apart from the others.

The first is a golden spear, pointed and gleaming in the sunlight produced through the skylight. Beside it, in the middle of the table, is a handful of silver arrows in a perfectly outfitted sheath alongside a beautifully crafted bow. At the very end is a set of two syringes, both colored in bronze and only giving off a dull glow in the light. The liquids contained in both are white in color, or at least appear that way against the neutrality of the table. I can only guess that those are meant for me, the syringes I mean.

That leaves the bow and arrows no doubt for the District Nine boy who must still be living as well. Everyone saw him take out the District Two with a flawlessly aimed arrow, and I don't think that these could be meant for any of the District Fours. That leaves the golden spear for whichever of the District Four pair that has survived. Gold, as in the one that the Capitol most wishes to be Victor. Silver for Nine, second place or second choice; and bronze for myself. Placements, even now they think they are controlling everything, and maybe they are. But I can still have a say. I can still do this because the traps are already there and there is no time to remove them.

I can still win, no matter who actually wants me to.

A flicker of movement catches my eye as the redheaded Career girl steps in through the archway two to the left of my own. The second her foot touches ground, a blinding light cuts through the room and my ears cry out as the screams of a thousand children fill them.

Of course, they want their grand finale. How could I have not expected them to put on their best?

* * *

**Faye Darson, 18, District Four**

I cry out in surprise and bring my hands to my face when the light hits me. It's so bright that I would have guessed that the Capitol had brought the sun in to roast us alive for the final chapter of their Games. Maybe, though, it only seems this way because we have lived so long in the dingy light from filthy windows. But then how does that explain the screeches and battle cries that I thought had been long dead now filling my ears and making them scream?

I force my eyes to adjust quickly to the brightness, not wanting to be vulnerable for even a second now that I am so close I can taste victory on my tongue. I keep my still-bloody spear close to me, ready to pounce on anything that my ears might pick up amidst the painful sounds around me. I hear nothing, though, and by the time I am able to open my eyes again fully I am able to see what is happening around me. The pictures, they're _screaming. _

I don't count but I can tell right away that there must be twenty-one of the red framed pictures around the room. Some are larger than others, but in all of them the images are clear. The tributes are dying again, over and over and over. A replay in horrific detail of each death and murder. My heart stops in my chest and I feel it tighten. If the feeling didn't go away a second later I would have sworn I'd had a heart attack. Each one of the tributes are yelling, calling for their loved ones and allies to save them, crying for the pain in their chests, stomachs, and limbs that is eating them alive from the outside in.

I know what I am here to do, but why suddenly is it so hard to move?

Why is it this difficult to face all the images around me, when it was me that wanted this in the first place?

Is it because in so many of them I can see my own red hair, my own blue eyes, my own spear tearing through flesh and muscle?

I force myself to snap out of it, press myself onward because I know that this trap was not meant to catch me. I saw the shimmering golden spear rise from the floor. I know that it was meant for me, the gold showing that it was me that was the favourite to win. This is supposed to deter the other two, the makes from Three and Nine, so that my victory is ensured. The Capitol is cheating so that I will win without question, and yet my legs try to refuse movement as my heart clenches in my chest.

I see him then, the boy from Nine wobbling towards the table, now just three or four feet away but moving deathly slow. How could I not have seen him before now? I slap myself mentally and do my best to quiet the screams that make the world go dizzy around me, to focus only on the pounding of my own feet as I rush across the room no matter that I cannot hear them doing so.

His hand is already grasping an arrow, but I catch him before his grip can tighten on the bow and it rattles to the floor behind me. I pin him to the ground with both my legs holding his wrists, no concentration needed towards his lower half as told to me by the thick gushing of blood running down one leg. He struggles under me because, despite his obvious advantage in both mass and height, I am stronger and have the added help of gravity. I dig the heel of one shoe into his would and his lips part in a scream that joins the rest.

I try and reach for my spear, but find it thrown to the side along with his bow and too far out of reach for me. I wrap my slender hands around his neck, squeezing with everything I have in me. His hands fight tirelessly to free from beneath my legs but I keep my grip. That is, until another force throws me off of him completely.

I spin around and leap to my feet before I can even blink. I look down on the District Three male laying on his stomach at my feet, eyes wide and staring up at me as if he has no idea why he is there. I kick him harshly in the stomach and he doubles over, another kick to the back send him sprawling away from me and I once again focus my attention on the District Nine male. I twirl around to where I left him just as his fingers wrap around the edge of the silver bow. I am barely able to take a single step before he has the weapon loaded with a matching silver arrow. Not even with a second of hesitation later I feel an explosion of pain as my entire body is thrown back onto the carpet, an arrow lodged in the flesh just below my neck.

My hands claw at the skin, trying to free the arrow from my body even though I know it will do me no good. Both boys watch me in stricken fascination as I try to scream only to have a stream of blood gurgle out of my mouth. I can feel the blood gushing out of my body as the room starts to blur around me and I rise to the new panicking of my heart. I want to scream, but I can't. I want to get up off the blood soaked ground and yell how unfair this whole thing is.

I cannot, though. I have always been told that nothing was ever guaranteed for me in the Hunger Games. It's not one else's fault except my own that I have only just realized what that really meant.

* * *

**Noeah Hazurn, 17, District Nine**

Neither of us know what to do now, with the screams dying out and becoming silent around us. The pictures still hold strong, the deaths that play over and over again to remind us of the other twenty-one that could not make it this far. Everything is silent now, and I feel my brain take breath. They wanted a fight and they got one. Now they are simply expecting us to follow suit and for one of us to die.

I glance down at the silver bow still encompassed between my fingers. My eyes then wander to the two bronze syringes still lying dormant on the table, no doubt meaning to have belonged to District Three who looks up at them from the floor with wide eyes. That Victor is supposed to be me. I am the silver, the second choice that they wish to have if they cannot have the Career girl.

The cannon shakes me as it sounds, now seeming so much closer than any other one had before. My body shivers despite myself and I look once again to the District Three boy. I am supposed to kill him now, that is how I will be allowed to leave. But how am I supposed to do that, with his face twisted into a mask of fear and disbelief. As if he has no idea why he is even here, as if someone has surprised him or maybe as if he has surprised himself somehow.

I try and lift myself from the ground and he does the same, wiping shaking hands on the filthy uniform and not seeming to notice when they come off coated in a new layer of grime and dust. I stare at him and he at me. I want to say something, but I just cannot seem to find the right words to do so.

"I don't want to kill anyone," he whispers, eyes shifting over to where the District Four girl lies with her throat clawed raw by sharp nails and her once sky blue eyes now faded and half closed in death. He shakes his head as if to punctuate his point and I nod lamely. He walks over towards the mouth of the Cornucopia and crouches down on his knees, holding his head between shaking hands. I clamber over to stand a safe distance away from him. Nothing about him screams danger, but one could not be sure of anything anymore. Especially not now when there is a fifty-fifty shot of winning and yet an equal chance of losing everything to death.

I rest my hand against the edge of the Cornucopia mouth, feeling something long and stringy twitch beneath my fingertips. I don't even have time to take another breath before I see a knife flying towards me, rusted and bloody. I only duck just in time to avoid being hit in the chest, instead having the serrated weapon embed itself in the meaty flesh of my shoulder. I cry out in pain and surprise, staggering backwards and nearly falling over an empty crate behind me.

My eyes fly to the boy who no longer crouches inside the giant metal structure. Now he is on his feet, eyes no longer wide by taking in the site of my bleeding shoulder with decrepit fascination. He takes one step towards me and I snarl at him ferociously, realization dawning on me at that moment. This trap is set far too loosely to be the work of the Gamemakers. If it had been them I would not have even seen the knife coming and I would likely be dead. I know for near certain it wasn't Four, she isn't the type to know, but that means it must have been him.

District Three, their tributes known for high intelligence and resourcefulness.

He takes the step back and nearly falls himself as he stumbles out of the way when I lunge at him with animalistic force I never knew I had. He folds in on himself and I fly over the boxes to land in a heap between them. I don't even realize that the screams have started again until I see Three's hands fly to his ears and his face contort in pain. My laugh of satisfaction is lost, yes, let the manipulative brat feel the pain. That's all he deserves now.

Pretending to be so helpless only to trick me into some twisted trap of his? It's either horrible or brilliant or maybe even both, but if it is a tooth and nail fight he wants, by damn he is going to get the fight of his life. I leap from my box casing and this time land on top of him. My grip of his arms against the floor wavers slightly as his eyes widen in clear pain, his lips whispering something that I don't catch.

"You tried to trick me, you're no better than the lit of them, Three," I hiss at him, hand moving about the ground searching for something to finish the kid with. He manages to get one hand out of my grasp and punches me square in the face with power that I never would have expected from him. My body lurches up from the force and he grabs my forearms in my confusion, flipping me off of him and onto my side. Something hits against my leg and I trap it between my feet for later use. I throw a quick punch which he takes with no sound and my body bends in on itself after a hard kick to my groin.

Now immobile on the ground I groan as I roll myself around. I struggle to my knees and my eyes refocus in the brightness on his figure running back up to the feast table. I brace myself through the pain of getting up and rush him once more, grabbing whatever I had trapped between my feet in the process and bringing him back down to the floor. We roll a few feet, both kicking and throwing punches while holding each other roughly with one hand. I feel something poke the skin of my side and the world ripples around me. I thrust whatever I had grabbed earlier towards where I think his chest might be, everything going slowly blurry around me but the screams of children days dead still pulsing through me.

"I'm sorry," I hear someone whisper, but I am unsure if it has come from his lips or from mine.

* * *

_**Faye Darson, District Four**_

* * *

**The artist theme for this story will be **_**Three Days Grace.**_

**Song: **_**It's All Over**_

* * *

**The blog for this story can be found on my profile. Deaths will be notified here.**

* * *

**I am terribly sorry to the creators that have lost their tributes, I do hope that you will stick around to see the progression of the story. If not then that is okay too and I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. Characters were killed based on personality, storyline and of course whether or not their creator reviewed. Hopefully no hard feelings if your character is gone. **

**From now on, a question or two will be asked at the end of each chapter which I would love for you to answer, and I also ask for a general review on my writing as well, if you would be so kind.**

_**Who do you think our Victor will be, Fuze or Noeah? **_

_**Do you think the finale was intense enough or did it lack luster?**_

* * *

**I know that you guys will all probably hate me for not revealing the final Victor, but that is our last Games chapter. The ending will be shown in the chapter next week, which will also feature some of the post-Games stuff for whomever our Victor is. Hope you guys can wait, I just thought this was a good place to end for this chapter. **

**Until next week! **

**PS: Yes I am early, but you still have to wait until Friday next week (and for that you may thank Sir Jake) :P **

**PSS: I still have five male slots open for my newest SYOT, I would love for you all to check it out if you have not already done so.**


	19. Keep Your Head Up

**Bitter Taste by Three Days Grace**

_As your world disassembles  
Better keep your head up_

* * *

**Fuze Lypton, 16, District Three**

This pain is nothing like I have ever felt before. I am shaking so violently that I feel as though my entire body is vibrating over the weight of the only corpse to bear my name. I am too scared to move away; too scared that the arrow his lame hand still clasps tight with fury will burrow even deeper into my shoulder. Too scared to get away from the fresh body because I think I still might die here.

The final note of a cannon blast plays strongly through my head and I still don't dare move a muscle. The dead eyes of my last opponent stare blankly down at the arrow he would have killed me with had my poison not been quick enough to take over his bloodstream. I realize that I am still holding the syringe that pierces his cold flesh. I pull my hand away when I notice that blood drips slowly onto my own flesh from when the needle entered his skin too forcefully.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor to present to you the Victor of the 44th Annual Hunger Games; Fuze Lypton of District Three!"

I feel a sense of vulnerability wash over me as the applause and cheers of my name by the spectators fill my ears. Shame and guilt churn in my guts as I finally remember that they were all watching. That they were watching this entire time, with intense eyes and greedy pockets. I must have understood this on some layer of consciousness, but hearing them now still makes my tears taste saltier and my whole mind go numb. I glance down at the other boy who lies on the floor with dead eyes and unhearing ears just feet from me. My eyes turn to the crimson puddle on the floor in which the last Career swims; senses unfeeling and mind unknowing.

I wrap my arms around my chest as the need to cover myself becomes unbearable. I no longer feel clever, nor strong, nor determined to reach victory. Instead I feel shell shocked, I feel cold, and I feel empty. All of these emotions clash together in my mind, a mixture of feelings I would not let myself experience before this moment. Until I was made to remember that everyone I know and everyone I do not know has seen me.

Everyone has witnessed me play along like a good little instrument in their cruel symphony. Everything I have done, felt, whispered in the lost world of sleep; it is theirs. None of what I have done in this place could ever be just mine and I feel stupid for thinking that I had not changed when there is proof on everyone's television screens that I have. Nothing in here is mine, and yet I can already feel the guilt building on my shoulders.

I know this isn't me, but on some level I am aware that it is.

I feel so confused.

That is why when the silver ladder drops down from the ceiling I take it without a backward glance. Anything to get away from this place, away from the cameras, and away from the shame that only I could know.

* * *

Beetee squeezes my shoulder lightly as we walk in silence through the now empty halls of the Training Centre. I am no longer bound to my floor, and yet I no longer feel the curious need to explore. I have grown, I have changed. It's strange to think that in just over a week's time I have lost all my childish tendencies. I am no longer the nerdy boy from District Three. Somehow in all of this confusion I have become a Victor.

Beetee has said nothing to me since I woke up in the hospital wing from a drug-induced slumber. His silence, though, is the only comfort I could ever want. I have tried several times to put the restless rush of emotions into words, but nothing gets past my lips. He has not pestered me for explanations or anything like that. His kindness near makes me cry because I know that I do not deserve a second of it.

Tesla has not joined us nor have I seen head or foot of her since before I first went into the Hunger Games. I have heard snippets of conversations that tell me she has already returned to District Three with Wyre's coffin. My heart aches to know that it is quite likely I will miss her funeral.

"I don't have to tell you that they are not happy with you," Beetee finally says and I nearly melt into him, his voice reminding me of the soothing words spoken to me on the Train and again before Launch. He has become almost like a father to me, even though I have yet to know him for a month. I don't think that I will ever stop feeling the sympathy in his words and the kindness in his breath. I have hope that he will help me get through this.

"I know," I reply softly and I do. I know that I was neither their first nor their second choice for the title. I have been shown nothing but care and kindness since I returned, but is it only to hide the real face of shame that I am the best Panem's children has to offer? It could be for all I know. I feel like I don't know anything anymore, my mind is just one huge jumble of words, images, and sounds; no meaning to bring them all together. "What do I do?"

"Nothing," he mutters, pulling my head in close to him when he notices that my hands are shaking against my thighs. "You just have to be thankful, gracious, friendly like you were in the first Interviews. Do you remember what you did then? You have to do that again, act like you can't believe that you were able to win. Give all thanks that you can to the Capitol."

I nod softly into his shirt and we move towards the waiting elevator, ready to take both of us back down to the studio to perform my victory interview. I am not scared, I am not nervous nor am I anxious. I only feel numb and it has begun to worry me. I fear that I will never wake up from this dream I have learned to call my new life.

* * *

I stare at the window, not really seeing the images as they flash by in a flurry of color. Beetee is in another cart, fiddling with the little electrics that he has started to carry with him at all moments; something to keep his hands busy and his mind concentrated on something. I never had seen him using those before, but I guess he must put up that image for the Capitol cameras- electrics are supposed to be his Talent. The hobby that Victors are supposed to take up in order to fill time now that they no longer have to worry about work. I will be expected to do the same, and I have yet to think what I might do. Perhaps something like Beetee or Tesla, who I saw sketching out little images of inventions that she might try to make.

I feel the train slow down, the vibrations getting less prominent and I stand to stretch so that I may have a better view of where we are. We had stopped once in District Six for a repair, though I had sensed nothing wrong, and I hope that now it is our real destination. I feel some anxiety welling up within me at the thought of home. The thought of seeing Mom and Dad, Cordin, even Gadjet who I'm not even sure knew I was gone in his stupor of drugs and alcohol. I wonder if they will even recognize me, I am nothing even remotely close to the boy that left a month ago.

Besides the lost gleam in my eyes and the foregone pinkness of my cheeks, I have cut off my long hair at the advice of my stylist. It's now so thin that it barely moves when I run my fingers over it. My clothes fit better than the ones my parents used to buy me, these ones specially made just for me and an entire wardrobe made to be shipped to the Victor's Village with me. Underneath the light material of my jacket I now carry a silver plate that sits in place of my shoulder, the wound I suffered from the final fight beyond fixing according to the doctors. It still moves like before and my stylist says that besides appearance I should feel little difference. I still haven't been able to bear the sight of it, every time I catch a glimpse I shy away from the mirror. The thought entering my mind that I now carry a piece of what the Capitol has done to me everywhere I go for the rest of my life.

The train stops and Beetee clambers out of the cart and beckons me before him. I can hear the applause rising even before the door slides open and I force a smile to my face just like Beetee has instructed me to do in front of the crowds. There will be plenty of time to cry when I am alone, he has told me, but the Capitol must believe you to be eternally blissful and thankful to them for the life they have spared for you.

The door slides open with a slight gust of wind and I step out into the station to see a crowd of people stretching to the capacity of the room. The smile on my face doesn't feel quite as forced as I pick out my family in the group, all three of them standing at the back, Cordin with a tiny baby in her cradled arms. I wave a few times to the people of my district, pumping one fist in the air as I had practiced in front of the mirror the night before. The screams and applause only becomes louder before Peacekeepers split the crowd and guide me to my family. I embrace each one in turn, holding each one close to me and nearly crying with happiness as they tell me how proud I have made them. All five of us are guided by white guards on all sides the few feet to a car reserved just for us. It is only a few blocks to the village but I take the time to gaze back at the district I had left.

I have never felt so far away in my own home before.

* * *

_**Noeah Hazurn**_

* * *

**The artist theme for this story will be **_**Three Days Grace.**_

**Song: **_**Bitter Taste**_

* * *

**The blog for this story can be found on my profile. The Graveyard has been posted on the blog under the title "**_**Thinking of You".**_

* * *

**I want to thank both of the submitters of Noeah and Fuze. It truly was a tossup because both of them deserve it so much, but in the end I chose Fuze. I hope that everyone is okay with the decisions, since, well, it can't exactly be changed now can it?**

* * *

**Now that **_**Painted Crimson **_**has ended, I would like to ask anyone and everyone that has been reading this story, whether they have a tribute or not, to please take the time to answer these questions. It would be invaluable to me as a writer!**

_**What did you think of the arena as a whole?**_

_**What character was your favourite? Did that change throughout the story?**_

_**Which death did you think was the best written/executed? **_

_**What chapter was your favourite?**_

_**Are you happy with the Victor? Was it who you guessed or not?**_

_**Any thoughts to share on the obituaries? Stand outs from the bunch?**_

* * *

**Lastly, I want to thank everyone that has favourited, followed, reviewed, or read this story. I did love writing it, but I am also quite happy that it is over. Every character submitted added their own element to this entire thing; spiteful Miram, impressionable Wyre, sweet Mayli, strong Jax, and everyone in between. My next story **_**Streets I Know**_** should begin properly next week, I have still yet to choose an update day though, so it could be any day!**

**And that brings to a close, **_**Painted Crimson! **_


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